


American Demons

by RomeoandAntoinette



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Compliant, Drug Use, Friends to Lovers, M/M, References to Canon, References to Julie and Huey, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22592239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RomeoandAntoinette/pseuds/RomeoandAntoinette
Summary: Solid Snake and Otacon travel across the United States building Philanthropy and collecting intel on their mission to eradicate all Metal Gear models possed by government agencies far and wide. The further they travel, the more they learn about their mission...and about each other. [Canon-compliant] [Solid Snake/Otacon] [MGS1-MGS4]
Relationships: Otacon/Solid Snake
Comments: 33
Kudos: 88





	1. St. Louis - 2005

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place post-MGS1, pre-MGS2 in 2005.

_St. Louis, Missouri_

_United States_

_38.5645° N, 90.6654° W_

_5:55 p.m._

_2005_

“Are you sure they’re not going to find us?” Otacon asked again. “I can hear a helicopter. It sounds close.”

His left hand ceased typing only briefly so he could sweep his unwashed bangs out of his eyes. The fingers on his right hand kept clicking away, punching line after line of code into a new database algorithm that could sweep the net for any array of keywords they wanted to monitor.

Meanwhile, Snake kept watch through the passenger-side window.

After their first mission as the NGO organization “Philanthropy”, the two men had invaded a warehouse located in what was supposed to be a country ag-tech corridor to scope out a lead on a potential railgun prototype with a compatible mechanism that allowed it to be attached to a military vehicle.

In this case, a bipedal, multi-story, _stealth_ military vehicle. That just so happened to have a detachable railgun component.

They’d been tipped off after plugging a few keywords into a dark web chatroom and following the links to their appropriate onion sites. Otacon already had a few insider resources as a trusted engineer at one of the most prominent defense subcontractors in the world.

The process had been fairly straightforward after that. Otacon had hacked the information right out of the company’s website through a backdoor in their rudimentary login system. From there, the building’s blueprints and list of security protocols had only been a few clicks away.

One look at the schematics was all Snake and Otacon needed to verify the information. There was no mistaking what they were looking at.

The infiltration mission had gone relatively smoothly until a chaff grenade failed to trigger at the last second. All the cameras and radars that were supposed to have been jammed stayed online. Before Otacon to ping Snake’s codec and wire him another closed-circuit feed, the alarm sounded.

Snake had made it out, albeit it by narrowly avoiding gunfire. He jumped into the rental car that they’d gotten from a local dealer who couldn’t have cared less about what the two men used it for as long as they returned it in one piece.

After making it onto the highway, Otacon quickly pulled up the closest dead zone in terms of technology and road systems. The result was a nearby nature reserve, full of hiking soccer moms but absent of security cameras or police scouts. Perfect.

All they’d had to do was pull onto the reserve’s main drag and, after skidding through what may have been a creek bottom or a ditch, Otacon shifted into full gear and guided the car onto an actual trail. When they arrived at a flat clearing, he pulled between the trees and flicked off the engine. They cranked down all the windows. They needed the vehicle to cool down as quickly as possible.

Now, they had to wait out the inevitable search. It wasn’t the worst possible outcome for their organization’s first-ever mission, but it was definitely one that had been near the bottom on Otacon’s preference list.

On the plus side, the north-facing ravine provided great camouflage from nearby walkers or other vehicles navigating the main road a few meters away. The arid, rocky ridgetops and slopes also helped shield them from any potentially prying eyes thanks to the ample shadow cover. The terrain was also good for cooling the vehicle's engine, which had no doubt worked itself into a tizzy after they’d rocketed through the forest.

Specifically, they were hiding out in a thickly wooded nature reservation located in St. Louis, a city smack-dab in the middle of the United States. The perfect place to begin a nationwide reconnaissance project to scope out and destroy Metal Gear prototypes before they could become active. It was also the centralized starting point for the biggest project either man had ever undertaken, and considering one was a former ArmsTech engineer and the other was a secret agent so infamous for reconnaissance that he’d attempted to entire retirement in his early thirties, that was saying a lot.

“I’m sure,” Snake said in response to Otacon’s earlier question. “We just need to hide here a little longer. Police choppers are searching for us, not news choppers.”

Otacon blinked. “That sounds way worse! Why could _that_ make me feel better?”

Snake had long since peeled his body free of his sneaking suit, just in case they were spotted during their attempt to flee. A man in a bandanna carrying pouches of ammunition and tranquilizers was bound to raise the eyebrows of highway patrol officers.

After donning a fresh hoodie and thrift store jeans, Snake popped his head out and glanced skyward.

While the sound of rotating blades persisted, it seemed the coast was still clear. The dense treetop above them made it difficult to see upward thanks to the kaleidoscope of foliage overhead, but Snake’s eagle-eyed vision and hearing compensated for the lack of vision.

“It should make you feel better because police choppers aren’t outfitted with the same quality of cameras that news choppers are,” Snake said. “Think about it. What do police use choppers for?”

Otacon’s brow pinched as he tried to multi-task. His fingers tapped the keys like a bird pecking seeds. “I don’t know. Um. Finding people? Bodies?”

“Exactly,” Snake said. “They’re outfitted with thermal cameras so they can find missing people in the dark or during the winter. If a plane goes down or a car crashes, they can also use the radar to find burning wreckage.”

“Okay, that makes sense,” Otacon replied with a nod. Despite the distraction of pummeling the keyboard with wordy coding instructions, he was following along so far.

“Now, what are news choppers looking for?”

The epiphany caused Otacon to cease typing for a split second. “Oh! I get it! Helicopters for news stations are looking to broadcast footage. Clear footage. Aerial views.”

Snake popped a finger gun in Otacon’s direction. “Exactly. If a news chopper knew our location, their cameras are good enough to capture our likenesses. Faces, license plates, care details, you name it. All the information would instantly go out to millions of viewers.”

He could picture it now. Scrolling headlines and talking heads spewing buzzwords about a new terrorist organization called ‘Philanthropy’ and their plot to destroy the U.S. military. People would believe the rumors easily. ‘Terrorism’ was a much sexier topic for gotcha-journalists and politicians than ‘grassroots activism.’ Plus, neither Snake or Otacon was naïve enough to truly turn a blind eye to the destruction the two occasionally left in their wake.

Eliminating bipedal nuclear weapons was one thing. Utilizing illegal intel via hacking was something else. Something that was hard to explain to the general public.

The idea of explaining something like FOXDIE or _Les Enfants Terribles_ during a television interview made his head spin.

“Yeah, that would be bad,” Otacon agreed. He chose to linger on the topic a beat longer. “But are you saying police choppers don’t have cameras? Like, at all?”

“They do, but the quality of the photos is subpar,” Snake said. “That’s all.”

“And the chopper searching for us is a police chopper?” Otacon asked. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I can tell by listening,” Snake said. “It’s an OH-58, I’m pretty sure. Military-grade. They’re used pretty widely by aviation units. Nothing super niche.”

That was good to hear, Otacon thought to himself. At least they weren’t sending out the heavy artillery. Yet.

“I also got visual confirmation,” Snake added.

“You did?”

“Yeah, I caught sight of it while you were going ninety miles per hour on the highway. It was a tough I.D., but after sitting here and listening, I’m pretty positive.”

The statement made Otacon pause. “Okay.”

Now, he really had to focus if he wanted to successfully create the online feed they needed to monitor news coverage. While their police radar scanner hadn’t picked up any hits, it made sense that any responding authorities would treat such a high-security matter with a little more discretion. Any reporter with a police beat could have similar technology mounted on the headboard of their fucking Ford Focus and the police would be none the wiser.

If new choppers with high-grade cameras did find out about the infiltration and managed to peg their location, then it would really be game over.

Surprisingly, it was Snake that broke the stressful bout of silence between them. “Nice, driving, by the way. All those late-night F-Zero deathmatches have paid off.”

“Oh,” Otacon deadpanned, shocked out his trance by the compliment. “Thanks.”

Despite himself, Otacon smiled. He pushed on his glasses and allowed himself the luxury of a chuckle.

Everything was fine. Snake was fine.

 _They_ were fine.

In a few hours, they could head back to their broken-down apartment building, eat fast food and pass out for the next twenty-four hours or so.

Everything was, and would continue to be, fine.

* * *

While the sound of the chopper finally faded about an hour later, Otacon had finished coding the search engine. With Snake’s help, they’d managed to plug in a wide range of keywords that could ping them upon any appearance in a news headline, article or other form of online discourse. ‘Metal Gear’, ‘nuclear’, ‘railgun’, ‘REX’, ‘DARPA’, ‘Philanthropy.’

‘Otacon.’ ‘Hal Emmerich.’

‘Solid Snake.’

The shotty WiFi connection he’d managed to hook up in the car made the loading time atrocious. Some tech news outlet had said, by 2007, it would be possible to get WiFi on wireless phones and other devices. Otacon hoped and prayed that prediction was accurate.

It took almost five minutes for it to finish.

Zero recent results.

“And we, my friend, are officially in the green,” Snake said. He propped his car seat back up to its original position and rolled his shoulders with a few satisfying cracks. “As we say in the biz, that is.”

“The biz?” Otacon asked sarcastically as he shut the laptop and gently slid it under the backseat. “What business? Being an NGO?”

“The business of barely getting by,” Snake laughed. Crack, crack. “Savor this moment, kid. I’m sure it’s only going to get harder from here on out.”

“How encouraging,” Otacon drawled. Even when he replied as flatly as he could, the timbre of his voice was still not as deep as Snake’s. “And may I remind you, I’m not a kid. I’m twenty-five, Snake. Almost twenty-six.”

“Then you’ll have no problem adjusting to my very professional and intelligent vocabulary, Dr. Hal Emmerich, P.h.D.,” Snake quipped as he reached for his sneaking suit, which he’d balled up and stuffed under the seat. There, in one of its many pouches, was a full carton of cigarettes.

He searched a few more pockets and huffed. “Damn. Left my lighter somewhere…”

All the while, Otacon could only sighed slipped the key back into the ignition.

Working with the infamous Solid Snake had provided the young geek with a new surprise every corner. When he’d first found the super solider in his Alaskan cabin, Snake had been so drunk that he was on the floor clutching a bottle of vodka like it was a life preserver. He had probably been a few swigs short of blacking out by Otacon’s estimation.

That encounter, combined with their interactions at Shadow Moses, all lent itself to the image Otacon had of Solid Snake as something of an action movie icon. More of a legend than a man.

Instead, what he’d learned so far was that the infamous war legend Solid Snake – _David_ – teared up at dog movies, read paperback sci-fi novels from the local library, and could eat an entire box of microwave puff pastries in one sitting.

For every stereotypical ‘cool guy’ action, there was a mundane counterpart. He could smoke a pack of cigarettes effortlessly (much to Otacon’s chagrin) but he also knew how to crochet.

 _‘The blankets at the nearby hardware store aren’t warm enough for me and the dogs when the snow gets really bad,’_ Snake had said with a shrug as he brandished an empty popcorn tin filled with yarn and hooks of various sizes. _‘So, I make my own. Once you learn how to tie every know under the sun in military training, something like making a blanket is easy.’_

And that was that.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Snake said suddenly.

His gruff words warped Otacon back to the present. The young man had a bad habit of reminiscing too much.

“I thought for sure you’d say something about the smoke,” Snake said, treading gently. “Not that I’m complaining, but…”

It seemed his distant demeanor had unnerved his partner. Otacon could have chuckled if he hadn’t felt so humbled.

“The rental place is already going to hate us for this,” Otacon laughed as they rolled back onto the trail near the park entrance. “I doubt a little smoke will make a difference. Besides, after what you just went through, I’d say you’ve earned a couple good drags.”

The rocky terrain reduced the vehicle’s speed to a waddle. More than once Otacon heard and felt the vehicle’s independent rear suspension clink and thump behind their feet.

“I know we came here as a late ditch effort to hide, but still, shouldn’t we have asked for a more…sturdy vehicle if we wanted a good getaway car?” Otacon asked while simultaneously swerving to avoid a jagged boulder speared through the floor.

“Specifically asking for an off-road vehicle would have been risky,” Snake said. “This car can handle it. I asked for a model with four-wheel drive.”

“But…”

“Let’s say a chopper did manage to get a description of our vehicle, or if anyone did try to trace recent rental from local businesses,” Snake posed. “The more generic the car, the more possible suspects. Anything too specific would call too much attention too fast.”

Otacon frowned and gripped the wheel harder as they approached an embankment.

“Sounds a little—" the car jolted them both forward as its tires rolled over a toppled log, “—paranoid, if you ask me.”

Snake shook his head. “It’s impossible for us to be too careful.”

He had a point there.

“Besides, I wasn’t the one freaking out earlier about hearing a helicopter,” Snake quipped with a smirk. “Was I?”

Otacon huffed. “No. I guess not.”

Even though there was nobody around, Otacon flashed his turn signal anyway as their rental rolled onto the reservation’s main drag. The texture of stone boulders and slippery leaves changed to harshly milled gravel. The difference in traction was palpable and a welcome change.

“Just don’t pop a tire and we should be fine,” Snake teased as he tapped the cardboard box against his thigh and popped a cigarette between his lips.

“Gee, thanks for the advice,” he replied. Snake practically heard his partner’s over-dramatic eyeroll. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Snake could have told his weaselly city-boy of a partner that there was no way gravel or even more of the reservation’s gently sloping rocks could have punctured the vehicle’s tires but decided against it. It was much more entertaining to leave him in suspense.

After another trip down the highway, they made a quick stop at a 24/7 corner store for a few provisions, mainly in the form of fast food and soda slash beer.

It was at the service counter that a teenager, who had been abandoned by his coworkers to run the place alone, looked the men up and down with interest. After taking their order, he asked if they wanted some extra food.

“I don’t have time to throw it all away while taking all the other orders,” they remarked with a yawn. “It’s just gonna go bad soon. You guys want it?”

With shrugs, they agreed.

The teen then slipped them a large catering tray of twenty strawberry milkshakes…and only milkshakes.

“Only to us would this happen,” Snake had moaned while Otacon thwacked him on the back of the head. If Mei Ling had been there, she would have no doubt been ready with the perfect proverb to coerce the man into knowing better than to look a gift-horse in the mouth.

After the very weird encounter, the two made a beeline for their apartment. Although they knew they needed to run through the carwash, they weren’t necessarily in the right mood for any more errands. They’d rented their vehicle for a few days, so there was plenty of time to rest up before they had to worry about returning it.

Just to be safe, they parked the car across the street from their temporary home on the top floor of a parking garage located in the Central West End. In an area where people relied on buses and the metro system for transportation from their brownstones rather than the stress of guiding a vehicle through city traffic, the top floor of the garage was almost always vacant.

They parked it in a far corner and piled all their leftover supplies into duffel bags. Snake carried their ridiculous surplus of food while Otacon cradled the two laptops. The makeshift WiFi rig was also stuffed in their bag along with their police radio scanner. They had to rewire everything whenever they hopped in the car, but that was a small price to pay. They couldn’t risk their technology being discovered, stolen, or left behind.

As they crossed the street, the sunlight off the white concrete street blasted them like a spotlight. Both winced at the brightness and continued forward, surely looking like transient madmen thanks to their unkempt hair, stuffed bags and other miscellaneous items.

Their St. Louis apartment was located in a L-shaped, brick building with an arched concrete façade that made it look like an archaic university lecture hall. The building was thirteen stories tall and had one elevator that hadn’t been functional since the way they moved in. The parking lot always seemed flooded, even in the middle of summer.

The rectangular windows the lined the tall structure were small enough to be coin slots. Inside, the lobby was always full of miscellaneous cardboard boxes in the corners and the stairwell reeked of ammonia. Somewhere up the street, someone could be heard screaming a rainbow of obscenities.

The surrounding neighborhood was full of smaller, brick houses that looked as if they were made of gingerbread. The spiked roofs were pitch black and each, small square house had stained glass windows and tiny yards sectioned off by ornate, iron gates. Between the historic, brick houses and brownstones with elevated stoops, dogwood trees flowered in abundances and coated the street in a sea of white petals. Some days, especially late into fall, it looked like it had freshly snowed outside.

Snake and Otacon breezed through the lobby and headed directly for the staircase.

Their building wasn’t one where neighbors stopped idly to chat. People, for better or worse, went about their business. It was a neighborhood where people didn’t ask questions. That made it an oddly perfect destination for Philanthropy’s hideout.

They shuffled into their apartment with ease and unlocked the door.

“Home sweet home,” Otacon said with a sigh of relief.

While not sweet, it was most certainly home. At least, it was for the moment. Tweed furniture decorated the living room, which featured a modest television and a singular desk that served as home base for both of Otacon’s brick-like laptops, computer towers and hard drives. A plastic container under the desk contained discs with back-up files, and another nylon pouch contained back-ups of the back-ups.

The bedroom was sparse by comparison. One futon, a nightstand, and a flickering lamp. The kitchen had white appliances and buttery pine floors that showed every scratch or indent. Apparently, the tenant before them had been fond of high heels.

Snake went right to the fridge and slid the disposable catering trays of milkshakes in.

“How are you feeling?” Otacon asked as he plugged power cords back into his laptops to change them. The older models needed to be juiced frequently, especially since they ran all the time.

Snake overturned the grocery bag over the kitchen island. Cheeseburgers wrapped in patterned foil bounced out and across the counter. He bent down and reached into another bag from which he brandished a cherry cola for Otacon and a malty pale ale for himself.

“I feel okay,” Snake admitted as he pulled up a stool and sat down. “Good to relax, though.”

“I can imagine,” Otacon said as he padded across the living room to join Snake at their postage-stamp-sized counter. Along the way, he flipped on the television set and tuned it to the local news station. “You should take it easy. I’ll run our standard reconnaissance protocol procedures and keep an eye out for any suspicious activity.”

“Take it easy, huh?” Snake parroted as he effortlessly popped the aluminum can’s top with one hand. “Sounds rough, but I’ll try.”

“You can always use the gym downstairs if you’re feeling restless,” Otacon proposed.

Snake unwrapped one of the burgers and took a large bite. “I’m not that desperate yet.”

Otacon laughed and took a bite out of his food too. While it wasn’t gourmet, the salty protein tasted like heaven after their stressful mission.

The two ate in relative silence, stopping every few minutes to watch the television and see if any talking heads were rattling off about an invasion in the West County ag-tech corridor.

Again, zilch.

About halfway through their meal, Snake finally grabbed his beer to take his first sip. However, before lifting the can to his lips, he held it skyward over the center of the table. “Well, Otacon, here’s to Philanthropy.”

Otacon rolled his eyes but reached for his drink all the same. “To Philanthropy.”

The two men knocked their drinks together and looped their arms together like a double helix so they could each drink each other’s beverages. While Snake wrinkled his nose at the sweetness of the cola, Otacon took the swig of beer without so much as a blink.

“What’s wrong, Snake?” he laughed. “Too strong for you?”

“Ugh,” Snake groaned as he shook his head. “Just remember, Otacon. Aspartame kills.”

“So does nicotine.”

“Touché.”

After they finished eating, Snake grabbed the milkshakes out of the fridge. He guzzled two down. The taste reminded him of the protein shakes Miller had given him after particularly strenuous workout sessions back in his late teens. The cool, chalky liquid tasted nothing short of nostalgic.

However, there was no way he could finish twenty of them.

“What the heck are we going to do with all of these?” Otacon asked curiously. Even with his sweet tooth, he could only finish one before the idea of taking another sip made nauseous. “I doubt these are going to keep for long.”

Possible ideas rattled through Snake’s head like bingo balls.

“Well,” he said after a few moments, “I may have an idea.”

The brown-haired man perked up. “What is it?”

A mischievous grin spread across Snake’s face. “Well, we still have to take the car through the carwash, right?”

Otacon blinked a few times.

Then, it hit him.

“Seriously, Snake?” Otacon groaned. “You were just calling me a ‘kid’ earlier, and now you want to—”

“Hey, I’m very responsible,” Snake replied, his tone just as snarky as his expression. “Let’s wait until we rest up. It should be dark outside by then.”

* * *

When the fast-food cashier had asked the two scruffy men to do him a favor by taking the restaurant’s extra, soon-to-expire food off his hands, he’d probably imagined that they’d ultimately throw the cups of sludge out themselves. Maybe they’d drink a couple first, pass out from a sugar coma, and then pitch the rest.

They probably never thought that the two grown men would use them as artillery for a fight.

After leaving their apartment at 2 a.m. on the hunt for a perfect location, they settled on an old basketball court a few blocks away.

They parked the car in the very center of the wide-open space, which was surrounded by a chain-link fence. Other than the rental car, there were only a few basketball hoops and old trash cans to be used as potential cover. The court’s position between two business skyscrapers buildings that had long since locked up for the night enclosed them even further.

“Why are we doing this?” Otacon asked Snake and they lumbered out of their car.

“Think of it as reflex training,” Snake said while playfully jabbing Otacon in the side. He went around to the back and popped the trunk to retrieve their ammunition. “Plus, it’ll be fun.”

“Fun for _you_ ,” Otacon countered with a shiver. “I have a bad feeling.”

Each one took a dense, foam cup filled with the berry-flavored dessert. The two men then assumed opposite positions on the court, as if they were opponents in a game.

Snake counted down by holding one hand high into the air. The lack of light met that Otacon had to squint just to make out the gesture.

“On my mark,” he called. “Three…two…”

Just then, Otacon saw something approaching his face quickly in the dark. He ducked out of the way just in time to avoid getting hit in the face. Behind him, the shake left a bright pink splotch on the pavement. The Styrofoam cup had shattered into pieces, its shard laying across the pavement like pieces of bone.

“Lesson one,” Snake said as he reached for another projectile. “A skilled enemy will always try to distract you. Don’t fall for it.”

Otacon scrambled up from the ground gracelessly. He quickly adjusted his glasses, which had become lopsided during the fall. “Why you…”

While he was trying to sound intimidating, he couldn’t suppress a wide grin at his friend’s antics. If a fight was what his partner wanted, that’s exactly what he would get.

Now knowing Snake was unarmed, Otacon rushed out of the darkness and aimed right for the middle of Snake’s chest. He managed to dodge the attack as gracefully as a bullfighter, but Otacon only had to reach down to grab another cup.

This time, he hit his mark and hit Snake in the thigh.

After hearing the smack of the foam cup against Snake’s rock-hard leg, Otacon tensed in fear of the anticipated retaliation.

Instead of the mercenary’s usual grunt of aggravation, the hit elicited a laugh out of Snake. “Not bad, but you’re going to pay for that.”

The two spent the next hours sneaking around the dark court and pelting each other and their surroundings with the frothy projectiles.

They each took turns hiding in the darkness, attempting to creep up on each other and catch them by surprise. While Snake was infinitely more skilled at stalking through the dark undetected, Otacon proved to be a quick study. His footsteps became lighter with practice and his movements were speedy thanks to his lithe frame.

Once they’d spent their supply down to only a handful of pink projectiles, they began to run circles around each other. Any semblance of strategy was tossed out the window in favor of hitting each other whenever possible. Otacon hid behind the car while Snake pelted the vehicle's windshield.

“Don’t break the glass!” Otacon laughed, nearly breathless and he popped over the top and took aim again.

The milkshakes were a little heavier than snowballs, but infinitely more annoying to be hit with.

By the end of the fight, Otacon’s pale sweatshirt was the color of bubblegum and Snake’s clothes were spattered with bright pink splotches. Both men were drenched from top to bottom. They’d have to stop by the laundromat after their trip to the carwash.

Eventually, they ran out of ammunition.

Snake, who was actually panting from the exercise, stood up from his hiding spot behind a trash can in the corner of the court. Diagonal from him, he could see Otacon from across the court still crouched behind the froth-covered rental car.

Otacon stood up and adjusted his glasses again, his hair hanging over his thick glasses in damp strings. A small smudge of pink decorated the top of his left cheek.

“Well, what’s the verdict?” he asked with a lopsided grin. “How’d I do?”

Snake crossed his arms. “Not bad, I’d say. Maybe I can retire early, and you can just do the rest of the sneaking missions yourself.”

“Oh, please, no,” Otacon moped. This caused Snake to laugh.

A few months ago, such a sight or sound would have been foreign to Otacon. Now, after living with the man for half a year and successfully surviving their first mission together, seeing his partner crack a smile was more routine.

The sound of his friend’s laugh was contagious, as soon, Otacon had also dissolved into a fit of giggles.

As the adrenaline began to ebb and both of them noticed how ridiculous each other looked and how their entire training session had been, they both began to laugh even harder.

That is, until Otacon’s voice suddenly ceased in his throat. The young man went wide-eyed, staring at something over Snake’s shoulder. Snake noticed the sudden shift in tone and went rigid with seriousness.

“Snake!” Otacon gasped. He jerked his arm upward and pointed into the darkness beyond the court. “Over there!”

As the dark-haired man immediately swiveled his gaze to catch whatever had spooked his partner, he felt something crash into the back of his head and drip down his neck.

Something icy cold.

When Snake whirled around, Otacon was mischievously clothing one last foam cup that he’d hidden inside his oversized jacket.

“Rule number one,” he parroted, mimicking Snake’s tone from before, “Don’t let the enemy distract you, Snake.”

Of course, Snake wasn’t one to take things lying down.

“Impressive,” Snake replied, voice flat and unreadable. “You sure are a quick study.”

It wasn’t until he took one step further into the light that Otacon saw the mysterious glint in his eye. By the time the younger man thought to spin on his heel and run, it was too late.

Snake grabbed Otacon by the wrist and hauled him close.

“Snake!” Otacon gasped, practically breathless as their bodies were all but crushed together as Snake put him in a restricting, but not suffocating, headlock. If he’d wanted too, the skinny man could have shoved himself free without a hassle.

Instead, he remained entwined in Snake’s arms, stunned to stillness. He was surprised, but not panicked.

“W-What are you doing?” he cried, his voice stumbling over itself in his confusion. His hands were free, but the idea of clawing at Snake’s arm or pushing away never dawned on him.

“I think you’re ready for more lessons,” Snake said simply.

The hushed tone caressed the shell of Otacon’s ear. Something about the wording, or perhaps the low tone of his voice, made Otacon shiver beneath his clothes.

“More lessons?” Otacon repeated.

“Yeah,” Snake said. “Tell me, _Hal_ , have you ever thought about learning some...close-quarters combat?”

The very word many Otacon scramble away. The engineer made a beeline toward the safety of the car. When he found the passenger door locked, he tried again to flee from Snake before the larger man lunched forward. He looped his hands around his partner’s waist and lifted him up. Thanks to Snake's military training and raw strength, it was easy to hoist the smaller man up until he was practically over his head.

The pair then twirled around and around until the stars were spinning above their heads in the periwinkle sky.

By that point, even the dizziness from being spun in circles wasn’t enough to stop Otacon’s voice from soaring with laughter.

“David, stop!” Otacon guffawed, chest heaving with breathless delight. “I give, I give!”

If anyone had been passing by the abandoned city lot at that moment, they probably wouldn’t have guessed the two men clutching each other while barreled over in laughter intended to save the world from mass destruction and militaristic rule under the threat of nuclear war.

To others, they must have looked like two lovesick fools that had had too much liquor (or too much sugar, for that matter).

In reality, they were refugees fighting for a home that had expelled them. Soldiers without borders in a country that had no idea they even existed. Two ants in a colony, fighting the grain.

They longed to save their country by destroying the very values the powerful elites held dear. They were two men – two American demons – blazing a path hell before sealing the door so nobody could even have to follow their footsteps again.

Two men who longed to let the world be.

And, in the meantime, they danced in circles in a dimly lit parking lot and watched the sunrise, reminded all the while of their greater purpose.


	2. Intermission 1 [Pennsylvania]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snake and Otacon make their way toward their next hideout. In the meantime, Snake learns a little about Otacon's life before Shadow Moses.

_St. Louis, Missouri_

_United States_

_38.6270° N, 90.1994° W_

_9:12 a.m._

_2006_

The morning they moved out of Philantrophy’s very first hideout, Otacon and Snake’s neighbor surprised them with a box of cookies.

The woman, who was in her early sixties and always wore a floral bandana around her natural afro of hair, presented them with a tin of allspice cookies. She gave them the gift after they’d already packed all of their belongings into the car, which was a one-way rental they’d have to eventually drop off at another location.

The tin was cornflower blue and stamped with a cross stitch pattern across the lid. Inside, the small disks were the color and size of sand dollars. The entire container was fragrant with autumn spice.

“I made them with extra sugar and butter,” she said, then looked at Otacon critically. “So maybe you’ll put some meat on your bones, Hal. David, please make sure he eats more often!”

Snake’s mouth curled into a smug smile as he jabbed his partner in the ribs gently. “I’ll try, but you know how he is.”

“Hey,” Otacon pouted.

She tucked her hands beneath her arms to warm them. No matter the season, it seemed the apartment building was always a smidge too cold for comfort. “I do, but I know you’ll find a way. The same goes for you, Hal. You boys have to look out for each other, you hear?”

Her words caused a memory to bubble to the surface of both their brains.

_“If you love someone, you have to be able to protect them.”_

A small beat of silence passed as the two men exchanged glances. The moment their eyes met, something flashed between them. That something was invisible, nondescript, but still blinding enough that they looked away.

Both men shared a hug with her, but before they could step away, she waved them back. They reproached her slowly only for her to crook her finger for them to lean in closer. When they did, she whispered something to them.

“Good luck on whatever you boys are up to.”

After they dropped off their keys (which were scrubbed of fingerprints, just like everything else) they approached their roachmobile of a getaway car. It would also be their temporary roach motel for the next two weeks until they arrived at their next destination.

Next stop, Massachusetts.

Snake slid the tin of cookies under the front seat. It was the safest spot in the entire car. They wouldn’t rattle around in such tight confines.

“I’m gonna miss her,” he said as he slipped the key in the ignition.

Otacon nodded and watched L-shaped complex fade into the distance as they drove. There was a sense of melancholy at least their first hideout behind, but both men were well aware that they couldn’t stay in the same place too long. Especially since their last infiltration had set off an alarm and had led to a police chase down the highway.

It was time to go, no doubt.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t a bittersweet moment.

At least they knew her address. Maybe one day, after all the Metal Gears in the world were dispatched and Snake and Otacon were no longer active law-breaking fugitives, they could send her a card or something.

One day, in a brighter future, maybe they could even visit her again.

Both of them.

* * *

_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

_United States_

_40.4406° N, 79.9959° W_

_2006_

One of the things that Snake most frequently wondered to himself was what Otacon’s life was growing up.

After all, the young man deemed a prestigious enough ArmsTech employee to become the developer of Metal Gear REX at the tender age of twenty-five.

Twenty-five was around the same age Snake had been when he was sent on his first solo infiltration mission to Outer Heaven after Gray Fox’s disappearance. At the time, he'd been just a rookie member of special forces unit FOXHOUND. That mission seemed so long ago, but because his military experience had been so intense, he had trouble recalling some details years later. Everything about his rough and tumble upbringing blended together to some extent. Significant moments stood out in his mind more than others, and the people he met definitely never left his mind. Sometimes, his thoughts traipsed back to memories of his old comrades Jennifer and Diane. Then, after Zanzibar, there had been Holly and Gustava. Of course, there was also Master Miller. Then, Roy Campbell.

Now, there was Otacon. Hal Emmerich. The man sitting in the passenger seat next to him. The same man who could build bipedal death tanks but also was also a self-proclaimed 'otaku'. At that moment, he happened to be humming along to the lyrics to a Beastie Boys song that was screeching through the car's old stereo.

While Otacon stared blankly out the window, Snake took a second to scan the lean man from top to bottom. No battle scars, at least from what he could see. No brands. No skewed limbs or crooked fingers. Whereas Snake had been raised by the battlefield and physical conditioning that broke one's bones as often as it broke one's spirit, Otacon was different.

Hal's battles were mental, not physical.

Something about the sheer dichotomy between them only fanned the flames of Snake's curiosity. What motivated Otacon? How had he earned a Ph.D. and become the lead engineer on one of the greatest stealth weapon projects in history at such a young age?

One day, during a particularly long wait at a tollbooth on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, he decided to ask just that.

“Well, I didn’t finish high school,” Otacon confessed with a laugh. “I…actually ran away from home when I was a teenager.”

This caused Snake to almost veer into the wrong lane. “Seriously? _You_?”

Otacon nodded and reached into the car’s glove compartment to produce the correct amount of change to pass.

He told Snake about how he’d educated himself over the internet before being matriculated at MIT before going on to earn a Ph.D. from Princeton University, which Snake knew was located in New Jersey. It dawned on him about halfway through Otacon's retelling that, somehow, he'd gone through that rigorous education all by himself while also being practically homeless. He hadn't mentioned either of his parents, so Snake assumed that meant they weren’t around to help. Or perhaps he didn't want to talk about them. Either way, he knew better than to open that can of worms.

“In college, I was recruited by a faction of the FBI that specialized in engineering research, but I got fired because I got caught hacking into their database,” Otacon revealed with a mighty huff. “Rookie mistake, really. It’s so embarrassing to think I used to be that clumsy.”

While Otacon counted coins, Snake's icy blue eyes were wide in shock. "Holy shit. Otacon."

“After the FBI kicked me to the curb,” Otacon continued while overturning a pal of quarters into Snake's hand, “ArmsTech approached me about being the lead engineer for the Metal Gear REX Project. I couldn’t say no, because…I needed a job. I also thought it was a totally different project than what it was. Then…well, I met you.”

That…had not been what Snake was expecting to hear.

Nonetheless, it explained a few things.

Otacon had been to and graduated from MIT and Princeton, so he knew the area well. Or, he knew it better than Snake.

Previous experience aside, there were still plenty of unknowns that made their journey interesting. Every time they happened across a visitor's center, they'd pull in and grab as many free roadmaps or help pamphlets that the receptionist would allow them to take. If nothing else, at least Otacon he was familiar enough with toll booths to help Snake navigate those when they happened across one.

At first, Snake had thought Boston would be the best option to settle temporarily. However, when Otacon had told him there was a small island that was only accessible via ferry off the shore of Cape Cod, he was intrigued.

Upon hearing it was Nantucket, which Snake only knew as the backdrop to a handful of schmaltzy 90s rom-coms, doubt crept back into his face. He thought that perhaps two grungy men who weren’t above dumpster-diving for food might not fit into an area where people sailed in their free time, groomed their personal gardens for magazine shoots, and showered outdoors to keep sand from ruining their Brazilian Walnut flooring.

Then, two words changed his mind. ‘Summer colony.’

“The island is a tourist destination and makes all of its money during the summer,” Otacon explained while they refueled their car at the next rest stop. “The rest of the year is like the off-season. The beaches obviously close, but so do a lot of attractions and restaurants. Some stores even have bargain sales for the leftover inventory. Only the locals are left, and the island has a residential population of…I’d say maybe 12,000 on a good day. Probably closer to 11,500.”

“Which means, as long as it’s not summer…” Snake trailed off.

As always, Otacon could read his partner’s mind like a book.

“It’s totally deserted," Otacon said. "Plus, it's about six hours to New York via boat or car. It's got good proximity to a major city, but plenty of distance if we need to slip back into deep hiding. We're still getting our footing with these missions, after all. Lots of things are new to us. Until we have a routine down pat, I'd prefer to be safer rather than sorry."

Now, Snake was invested.

It had taken a little bit of persuading, but Otacon had actually managed to convince Snake the destination might be worth exploring. Plus, it sounded like a much-needed change of scenery compared to their previous accommodations.

In just a few days, he and his partner would be taking a ferry to a quaint town. They'd share another cramped apartment together, but this time they would have a romantic view of the ocean and a bunch of nosy suburban neighbors breathing down their necks.

And they'd be running an anti-proliferation NGO.

What could possibly go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that the number of chapters for this fic has doubled from five to ten. You may be wondering why.
> 
> Originally, I was planning to have five chapters and five destinations during different points in Philanthropy's timeline. However, I decided to add five additional chapters to provide some smaller, more filler-esque chapters (and an epilogue). Lots of talking happens on road trips, and I had a craving to write some smaller moments of these two becoming closer and sharing tender moments at a toll booth, a motel, a highway underpass, a thirft store, and at 3 a.m. in the beverage section of a 24-hour gas station.
> 
> You know, millennial dreams.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this little break and are staying healthy. I love you all and will be back soon.  
> Buh-bye!


	3. Nantucket - 2006

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snake and Otacon settle into their newest hideout in Nantucket.

_Nantucket, Massachusetts_

_United States_

_41.2835° N, 70.0995° W_

_2006_

Even in the off-season, a one-bedroom apartment in Nantucket averaged about $3,000 a month. After hunting high and low for anything that was immediately available, Philanthropy finally locked down a $900 one-bedroom apartment that was above a corner store. The place smelled like saltwater taffy and asbestos, but the price was right. Or, as right as it could be given their surroundings. The cost was paid via funding that they received from multiple contributors and private donors who were passionate about the group’s cause. Finances were lean, but it was hardly an impossible arrangement.

It was weird to be wanted terrorists and government-sanctioned activists at the same time.

Yet, in an equally weird way, they made it work.

Their newest place was even weirder. Among other things, it was incredibly cramped, missing a stove (not that they knew how to cook anyway) and the landlord even warned them that there was a wasp problem that seemed to flare up during the summer.

Again, that wouldn’t be a problem. They would be out before then.

The apartment was kitschy in its décor, featuring diamond-lattice windows in an alternating pattern of baby blue and blush pink sea glass. The frosted finish was tacky but worked wonders at keeping out prying eyes from the street below or other multi-story buildings.

The hardware on the kitchen cabinets resembled seashells and the wallpaper in the bedroom featured a light blue brocade pattern.

There was also sand. Lots of sand. So much sand that, if there was a surface, there was sand. Snake swore even the VCR had sand in it.

The two settled in quickly. Just like they had in St. Louis, the two shared a bed and kept furniture at a minimum. They used cardboard boxes from alleyways behind grocery stores as temporary tables and practical storage. They were free (“Technically, since they’re trash, it’s a public service!” Snake said as they loaded them into the car at 2 a.m. dressed not-at-all suspiciously in dark clothes and bandanas). The recycled furniture was also incredibly convenient and easy to move around. Plus, Snake had an odd affinity for the boxes.

At the end of the day, the aesthetic of the place was not really what mattered. The most important part was making sure Otacon’s computers stayed up and running.

Keeping the computers online was a chore in and of itself. Regardless of how shabby their accommodations were, access to the internet was mandatory. It was metaphorically and literally their gateway to the next mission.

However, while they were using the net as a lifeline for all their leads, the duo quickly discovered that other wannabes were doing the exact same thing.

In the same way that Otacon was using the Web to spy on corporations and dig deep for information, he also used it as an eyeglass into online forums and chatrooms that were getting carried away with their curiosity.

Chatrooms just like the one he was currently loading his own batch of homemade code into right under the moderators’ noses.

He imagined they were distracted exchanging fan theories how news of the St. Louis ag-tech infiltration had blown up, and how the modus operandi seemed to strangely mirror the same procedures used by the infamous agent Solid Snake had followed at Shadow Moses.

While Otacon puttered away at his PC, Snake busied himself with unpacking the rest of their belongings and cleaning their new hideout with rags and dollar store cleaning products that looked like blue raspberry syrup but smelled like artificial plant essence.

Some of the smaller projects he tackled like bleaching the bathroom and cleaning vents also helped him siphon out excess energy before it could build into anxiety.

The hardened and heavily traumatized soldier was still getting used to relaxing his body without the aid of heavy drinking, but he was getting better and better by the day. In fact, since they’d started Philanthropy, Snake had only indulged in beer recreationally and downed a few celebratory shots after missions.

It helped that Snake never drank alone anymore as well. Otacon always joined him and kept him in check.

Snake then returned the favor by making sure Otacon didn’t spend twelve hours straight hunched over a keyboard thrumming lines of code while consuming what might as well have been an IV drip of black coffee to stay energized through the more monotonous parts of his endeavors.

Sometimes, when Otacon was scheming away excitedly at his computer, Snake would inquire about what his partner was up to. Such was the case as Otacon loaded code into the chatroom.

When Otacon returned the milder confession that he was disbanding a nosy forum this time, Snake had to know more.

“Well, I’m using something called a floodbot,” Otacon said plainly. He waited to see if Snake cared to know more.

He flipped the can of air freshener, which he was using to combat the vinegar aroma, into the air and caught it again with a flick of his wrist. “Sounds nasty. But what is it?”

“Basically, it’s a DoS attack that floods IRC channels with massive amounts of incoherent text,” Otacon explained, making air quotes for emphasis. “Hence the name.”

“IRC channels?” Snake parroted.

“It stands for Internet Relay Chats,” Otacon said, feeling fancy enough to push on his glasses and smile. “People can chat publicly or privately from around the world. Some are public, some are private. The chats are, I mean.”

Snake sprayed a cloud of fresher near his ashtray. Like that would help.

“I’m assuming this channel that you’re attacking is a threat to us?” Snake asked rhetorically. He already knew the answer. Otacon was a lot of things, but Snake knew he was not a man that was frivolous with his work time. “And by ‘channel’ you actually mean an entire server of wannabe detectives sticking their noses where they shouldn’t be.”

“You’ve got it,” Otacon grinned. “You’re quite astute, you know?”

The older man stole a quick look at Otacon’s bright expression. “You look so proud of me. Give me a little credit here.”

His words sounded harsh, but the tone was playful enough that Otacon didn’t feel the sweeping wave of nervousness he usually felt after accidentally insulting someone.

Instead, Snake seemed to be enjoying their banter, even the nerdy parts. Even better, he was eager to learn minutia and memorize technology. It was at a bare-bones level, but it was more than many of the people in his life who had cared about his ramblings.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Otacon acquiesced as he watched Snake mist the freshener over their gossamer lace curtains. “Of course, you’d be a natural at learning stuff like this. Your IQ is like 180, isn’t it?”

“Take it easy,” Snake said with a smile. Mist, mist. “I’m just giving you shit.”

“Better than anyone I know,” Otacon supplemented.

That earned a sincere laugh from the hardened soldier.

The situation was even more flattering for Otacon because he knew his partner’s personality. Snake was an incredibly intelligent man, but he was also a self-described Luddite when it came to technology. It pleased him greatly to see that he was imparting knowledge to someone else. The knowledge that was being used for good.

“Is that something you picked up on before or after you tried to hack the FBI?” Snake asked.

Otacon rolled his eyes. “Please. I learned this way back in school. This is so basic a script kiddie could do it. You don’t even have to have the skill to write your own code for it if you know where to look. Kind of one-size-fits-all for today’s websites. Of course, I punched up my custom version with a few other…nasty side effects.”

Snake waggled his brow.

“Nothing harmful!” Otacon backtracked. “It’s just invasive enough so we can keep our eyes on them. A basic keylogger and some benign spyware. If they run an antivirus program, they may register as PUPs if they’ve got really good protection, but I’d bank on them having a more basic set-up. These users are probably just students or teenagers using their at-home computers. This will give ‘em a good spook.”

He continued to nod along.

“But—anyway—I’m getting off-track,” Otacon realized with a blush. “Right, the floodbot! It’s not going to spread malware or anything like that, but what it will do is disseminate their chat. Basically, flooding an IRC exhausts the bandwidth until it causes network latency.”

Snake picked up the thread his partner dropped and followed it along.

“Meaning it lags like crazy and people can’t use it,” Snake said. “At that point, if these people have been anonymously communicating online anyway, cutting off their main landing pad is going to make it pretty hard for them to find each other again. Hell, it may not even be worth trying to recover the site unless they’re actually serious about finding us.”

Then, and only then, would they take additional measures. Snake didn’t want to think about that part. Hopefully, as long as Otacon stayed at his side, he wouldn’t have to.

“Exactly.”

Otacon punched the enter key and rolled his chair back.

The screen began to scroll in a never-ending sea of garbage text and crudely strung together words.

Page after page on nonsense phrases and irrelevant sentences filled every window on the screen, creating scrolling walls of words. If any of the chatroom users should try to interject a word edgewise, it would easily get lost in the sea of text.

“And we are live,” Otacon laughed. “Looks like our lovely naysayers will have to disperse any minute now.”

Snake clapped as if he had just seen a magic show. In a way, he had.

“You are a force to be reckoned with, partner,” he teased.

The younger man scratched the back of his neck. Praise from Snake always humbled him beyond words. It always meant a lot to hear.

“On that note, let’s get dinner,” Otacon said as he stretched his arms over his head.

Snake chuckled low in his throat. “You mean breakfast?”

Otacon paused. “Huh? Breakfast? It’s dark outside.”

With more bravado than Otacon appreciated, Snake sauntered over to his partner to present the face of his wristwatch. The time read 5:55 a.m. It was before dawn.

“O-Oh,” Otacon stammered dumbly. “Wait, why the heck are you awake?”

“I stayed up because you were up,” Snake agreed as he opened one of the apartment’s crooked cabinets and stuck the air fresher back in its spot. “I wanted to clean anyway.”

“Spraying air freshener is our definition of cleaning now?” Otacon teased rhetorically. They’d barely moved into their new apartment and it was already a stereotypical bachelor pad.

The sarcasm didn’t deter Snake’s teasing. In fact, he avoided the question altogether as he continued to place various bottles of off-brand cleaning products back into the cabinet.

“Would you rather it smell like saltwater taffy from the candy store downstairs?” Snake asked.

Otacon laughed. “I grew up around here, you know. Homemade saltwater taffy is what heaven probably smells like.”

Snake gave him a funny little smile. “That’s the first I’ve heard.”

“Have you ever tasted it?”

“No,” was his candid answer.

“Oh, you’re missing out,” he gushed.

A loud rumble sounded from Otacon’s concave stomach.

“I’m assuming since you don’t have any clue what time of day it is, that you also don’t know the last time you ate anything either?” he asked pointedly. He shut the cabinet door only for it to swing open half an inch again.

It was Otacon’s turn to avoid the question. “Well, I…”

Snake gave his partner’s bony shoulder a friendly jostle.

“Get your coat,” he said as he reached for his cracked leather jacket, which was suspended on a lopsided coatrack in their doorway. “Nantucket is a hell of a lot chillier than St. Louis was.”

* * *

The two ambled their way toward a Stop & Shop grocery store located less than a block from their place.

Instead of risking a belabored and expensive trip to one of the restaurants, they opted to grab some groceries and whip up something simple at home. Also, they sold coffee and frappes inside, which they both desperately needed.

Halfway through their saunter amongst aisles of overpriced cookies and artisanal oils, Otacon got a ping on his codec from Mei Ling. He’d reached out to her a few weeks before they’d relocated to their newest hideout, but it was the first time the young programmer had returned his call.

Even though the relay came through his codec and was virtually noiseless, he still opted to take the call outside for added secrecy. This meant leaving Snake with the task of finishing the shopping and paying for everything with the pre-loaded Visa they had purchased with cash pulled from the actual bank account the two men shared.

“You got this?” Otacon asked as he slid him the card.

Snake took the card between his pointer and thumb and pulled it back with deliberate flair. “I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”

“Very funny,” Otacon huffed. “Don’t forget to buy some icepacks. Next time you get bruised or burned, they’ll be way handier than those disposable patches we’ve been using. Oh, and grab some bananas too!”

Snake rumbled out a laugh, low and slow. “Yes, dear.”

Otacon didn’t pause to think about how domestic the whole scenario was. Instead, he was focused solely on Mei Ling and what her stance was on his offer to join Philanthropy.

He rushed across the shop’s postage-stamp-sized parking lot to answer her call.

When their lines synced and the two-way feed was established, the engineer was spared no moment to get a word in before Mei Ling launched into an overjoyed outburst on the other end of the line.

“Dr. Emmerich, I just got off the phone with Nastasha and you’ll never believe it!” she sang, “The two of us were talking about her book and I happened to mention the fact that I planned to call you back about the offer you made, and she said she would be just as interested in lending her experience as well. I mean, I know I didn’t _technically_ ask you if it was okay and I don’t know if you think of her differently after reading her book, but I still thank she would be a great resource in the realm of weaponry! Don’t you think so?”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Otacon intercepted gently. “What are you talking about all of a sudden?”

Then, a lightbulb went off.

“Oh, you’re talking about Nastasha’s new book, “In the Darkness of Shadow Moses” aren’t you?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “I’ve already read it twice. Have you read it yet?”

“No,” Otacon said honestly.

Nastasha Romanenko, a weapons analyst who had lent her aid to FOXHOUND, had published the book last year in 2005 shortly after the namesake incident. That had all gone down in February, and by the end of the year, it was already topped multiple charts as a bestseller. He even recalled seeing reviews about the book in the news between actual coverage of local events.

No wonder people in the chatroom had gotten so nosy. In fact, everyone had become nosy about the incident and their identities since the release of the book.

“It was interesting to read, but I thought some parts of it were so bizarre!” she said. “Sure, some of it is about Shadow Moses, but a large part of it is about Nastasha and some man named Richard Ames.”

“Richard Ames?” Otacon repeated. “Never heard of him. Was he part of FOXHOUND like you and Nastasha?”

“I’ve never met him, and I had no idea of his involvement before reading that book,” she confided. “Suffice it to say, it is interesting. I was curious to hear your feedback or if you had read it too.”

“Not yet, but I should get around to it,” he said, making a mental note to do just that.

She continued, “Reading about all those conversations she had with Snake…it brought back memories.”

Her voice got quieter toward the end of the sentence.

Otacon waited a beat before he ventured to ask her if she was okay. Then, just like last time, she intercepted the silence with an outburst of energy.

“Oh, I almost forget,” she said, her solemn demeanor whisked away like a balloon in a storm. “She talked about you too, Dr. Emmerich!”

Dread condensed like a lead ball in his throat. “Me?”

“Yes!” she said. “She even quoted you.”

The ball slowly sank into his stomach. “Oh no.”

“Here, let me find that part,” she said, the sound of turning pages present in the background.

“You really don’t have to do that.”

“Here is!” she exclaimed. “Ahem, when you met Snake for the first time and were talking about your family, you said, ‘Three generations – sometimes I wonder if nuclear warfare is out personal albatross, an inherited pathology.’”

The young man scrunched up his brow. That was a pretty personal statement about his family to just be released out into the public in some nonfiction novel.

Then again, in all fairness, he supposed he had been the one to dish out his family’s past to Snake right after his rescue. For better or worse, that first encounter was still crystal clear in his memory.

The man was still partially surprised by how clear his memory was of the entire scenario. A small part of his psyche hoped that perhaps his brain would mercifully submerge the more embarrassing parts to never see the light of day again. Such was not the case.

It was surprising because the moment he knew of REX’s true intention as a covert nuclear missile launcher, his brain had shut down. Guilt had consumed him and sent him into a mode of over-corrective panic that one might argue he was still trapped in. In fact, he did not know if he would ever be able to escape.

Despite the hysteria he’d felt at the time, he hadn’t forgotten a part of it. He could close his eyes and play it inside his brain like a movie if he wanted to.

The flashes of gunfire.

The wails of agonizing death.

The sight of metallic blood on fresh snow.

The fleeting stares from under the frayed and sweat-soaked edge of Snake’s bandana.

All he had to do was close his eyes and think back. He could remember with stupid clarity the way Sniper Wolf smiled at him when he was able to feed the hounds without fear, or how Ocelot always seemed to tense up when he saw his face or heard him speak. Of course, he remembered the moment Snake had grabbed his shoulders and asked him if anything was bothering him.

He remembered that Snake had thanked him for opening the escape route for him and Meryl to escape.

He remembered that Snake had told him that love could bloom on a battlefield as long as you had the desire to protect the people you loved.

He remembered…that Snake had saved his life when he was mere seconds away from death.

Suddenly, he was breathless. Otacon filled his lungs with morning air and decided it was time to change the subject back to business. He leaned against a nearby bike rack for some additional support and cleared his throat.

“You were with Snake for every part of that mission, right?” he asked.

“I mean, I was privy to those conversations because of the nature of the mission,” she answered cagily. “We were all watching from the epicenter of our operations. Unless someone stepped out for whatever reason, we were all in the same room. We had each other’s physical company, but Snake…had nobody else. Not until he met you and Meryl.”

“Right,” he replied.

In the same way, Snake had saved him and Meryl, they had both returned the favor.

Mei Ling continued, “It was all hands on deck to make sure Snake stayed safe and completed the mission. We shared our communications because we were all on the exact same page. At least, that’s what I thought.”

She was quiet again, but this time, Otacon knew why.

“You couldn’t have known everything that was going on, including what Dr. Hunter did to Snake,” he reminded her.

He heard a faint rustle of paper on Mei Ling’s side of the line. “You know, she’s mentioned in the book too.”

“Dr. Hunter is?” Otacon asked. “Well, that makes sense.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Mei Ling said. “She also…had a fling with Ames. She’s his ex-lover.”

Otacon blinked. “Oh.”

Between injecting Snake with FOXDIE and her various interludes with very important and very connected people, ‘Hunter’ was proving to be a fitting surname.

“You know, she also flirted with Snake before the mission,” Mei Ling confessed, her voice suddenly hushing as if they were suddenly two kids telling secrets at a sleepover. “She said he could strip search her if he came back alive! Goodness, I would never say something like that to Snake! I think my face would burn off from blushing so much!”

Otacon tried his hardest to not laugh. “Well, I doubt Snake minded the sentiment.”

Instead of sighing loudly like he expected her to, Mei Ling let a few beats of silence linger between them before speaking again. “You know, you and Snake don’t seem like you’re that similar … but you are both very much alike.”

“Well, thank you!” Otacon said, taking her words as a compliment. “Just don’t tell Snake that. He may get offended.”

“I doubt that,” she replied quickly. “Don’t settle yourself so short, Dr. Emmerich. I know Snake wouldn’t want that either.”

At this, his radio went silent. All this talk of people believing in him and enjoying his company was new to him and boosting his confidence exponentially, but when it came to how to respond to such a genuine compliment, he couldn’t even fathom what to say.

“Mei Ling, is the book the only reason you called me back?” Otacon asked. “Not that I don’t enjoy talking to you, but…”

The woman laughed on the other end of the line. “Getting impatient, are you?”

A light blush bloomed on his cheeks.

“Well, um…” he stuttered nervously, unsure how to act after being caught red-handed by the astute programmer.

“Of course, my answer is ‘yes’,” Mei Ling said.

“Great!” Otacon exclaimed, trying his best to not grin like an idiot in public. It would no doubt raise a few eyebrows to see a man smiling at nobody on the street, especially in such a strait-laced and suburban area. “And if Nastasha is also on board, we could definitely use her expertise too.”

In was at that moment that saw Snake emerge from the store with his arms full of grocery bags. Behind the film of one bag, he saw a distinct banana-yellow smudge. He was also carrying two cups of coffee in one hand while juggling the bags. Just looking at the whole sight made him anxious.

“Oh, Mei Ling, I’ve got to go,” he said. “I’ve already got your contact info. Send me Nastasha’s too and I’ll circle you both on how you can help.”

“Sounds goods,” she said. “Tell Snake ‘hi’ for me, okay?”

“I will,” he said. “Um, bye then.”

“Bye!”

As the feed went dead, Otacon jogged back across the parking lot to alleviate some of the weight from Snake’s arms.

“Everything go okay?” he asked as he unhooked two heavy bags from the crook of Snake’s elbow.

He returned a sigh of relief. The older man even shook out his arm and flexed his elbow to get his blood pumping again. “Yep. Smooth as can be.”

The engineer could not help but furrow his brow slightly at the somewhat overdramatic reaction. Sure, it had to have been awkward for him to carry all the bags out of the store in one trip, but he didn’t think that task to be so monumental that a super-soldier of Snake’s credentials couldn’t handle.

It then dawned on him that they had both been awake all night. Snake had also been tackling small projects around the house. It made sense he would be more physically exhausted than usual.

“Thank you for taking those,” Snake supplemented. “The bags, I mean.”

Yeah, Otacon thought secretly, that was probably it.

“Hey, no problem,” Otacon said, happy to alleviate his partner of at least part of the burden. “Thank you for grabbing stuff.”

A curt grunt sufficed as the soldier’s reply. Snake then shifted one of the paper cups to his now free hand then extended it to his partner. “By the way, this is for you. Black coffee, for both of us. You’re not a big sweetener guy, I didn’t think.”

“You thought right,” Otacon laughed as he accepted the beverage. Despite enjoying the flavor of sodas and energy drinks, he did not enjoy how the aspartame flavor mingled with the varieties of deep roast he tended to prefer. He preferred the straight caffeine, kind of like taking pill vitamins as opposed to the trendy gummy ones.

He took a long swig of the brew and let out a satisfied sigh. “You know me too well. Thank you again, David.”

As he took another gulp, he failed to catch the fond way Snake watched him from over the rim of the cup.

“You’re more than welcome, Hal.”

* * *

The two sleep-deprived men had both drained their coffees by the time they made it back to their small apartment.

The paper cups were discarded into a bagless trash can at the bottom of the stairs leading to their second-story front door. They jogged up the metal stairs, which created a delightfully horrendous racket every time, and keyed in. While it had been nice to get out for a bit, both men were very cognizant of the fact that the island locals would soon be emerging from their own beach houses and condominiums to get the day started. Boutique stores would open their shudders and restaurants would lay out the embroidered napkins.

Meanwhile, Philanthropy would put their heads down and work.

But, even before that, they would eat some breakfast.

“Okay, I got some bananas, eggs, cheap protein powder, and some baking stuff,” Snake said while gesturing to the various paper bags sprawled across their modest kitchenette table. “I also got a loaf of bread and some butter. Peanut butter too. Oh, and some candles in case the power goes out.”

As Snake unloaded the bags one item at a time, Otacon shelved the items they did not need for cooking. By the time they were done, the previously vacant cabinets were stocked with dry goods, dusty seasonings, and even more discount cleaning supplies. They left the bread, eggs, and bananas out.

There was just one bag left that Snake seemed keen on saving for last.

“I got some fun stuff too,” he said. “Wanna see?”

“Of course I do,” Otacon said while leaning over the table enthusiastically.

From the bag, Snake produced a small candy dish in the shape of a seashell. A chambered nautilus shell, from the looks of it. Judging from how many layers of tissue the cashier had wrapped it, it seemed like it was made of glass. The heavy thud it made against the wooden countertop when he sat it down confirmed his theory. It was nothing like the bone china his family had used while he was growing up.

Following the dish, Snake produced an obnoxiously large bag of saltwater taffy. A large yellow and red font right on the front of the bag proudly declared it boasted, “5 lbs. and 15 different flavors of homemade sweetness!”

At this, Otacon rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, David, you…”

A smirk stretched across the other man’s face. It was an unabashedly guilty, sorry-not-sorry smirk that forced even Otacon to fight back a laugh.

“It was on a hell of a sale too,” Snake said. “I guess people here really do prefer the homemade stuff, huh?”

Alright, Otacon thought as she scrubbed a palm over his eye. Two could play at this game.

“And what, pray tell, was your thought behind getting the tiniest candy dish in the world to go with it?” Otacon asked while picking up the delicate object. Its entire circumference was no large that the palm of his hand.

“Cute, right?” Snake asked. “I thought we could use a little more décor around this place. You know, to make it feel homier.”

Now that was something Otacon couldn’t argue with. While the cotton candy-colored windows and nautical hardware in the kitchen certainly counted as decorations, it was not décor that Snake or Otacon had decided on. There were no personal artifacts in the space that made it have any semblance of home.

The only exception was the cornflower blue cookie tin that sat the middle of their modest dining room table. It served primarily as a bowl that that routinely filled with whatever snack the two men craved during their all-nighters. That was the only sentimental item either of them really carried.

It had always been his assumption that both he and Snake had given up personal artifacts because they didn’t make any sense for their nomadic lifestyle. Perhaps a little change in that area would be good. At least, that seemed to be what Snake was suggesting.

“And, if we don’t need it, I’ll just use it as an ashtray,” Snake dropped casually.

So, the small bowl was designated as a candy dish by Otacon.

Snake dumped most of the taffy into the cornflower tin and put the remaining pieces into the seashell.

Then, he extended it to his partner.

“Keep it by your desk,” Snake said. “That way you don’t starve during those long hacking sessions anymore.”

The young man accepted the gift with sincere gratitude. He cradled the tiny dish in both hands, feeling the coldness against his suddenly flushed skin.

“First strawberry milkshakes and now taffy,” Otacon sighed, knifing his fingers through his cloud of ash brown hair. “How the heck does this keep happening to you?”

The soldier shrugged and reached for his lighter. “Just a lucky guy, I guess.”

When Snake reached for the carton of cigarettes in his back pocket, Otacon reached out and took his hand. The gesture elicited a light gasp from Snake, who was usually noiseless even in the tensest situations.

He brought his hand upward and overturned his palm skyward. Snake held his hand there, suspended between their bodies, while Otacon reached back toward the candy dish.

“I told you,” Otacon said as he placed a candy right in the center of Snake’s palm. The preciseness of his movement mirrored how some people would make an offering to a god at an altar or some other grandiose gesture of ceremonial reverence. For them, it was a single offering of discount candy. “You have to try it.”

The piece Otacon had selected for him with light blue and had a bright yellow swirl in the middle. Like sunshine on a clear day.

He popped the candy in his mouth and chewed.

“Well?” Otacon pried, rocking on his tiptoes so he could get a better view of Snake’s face. He wanted to see his friend's honest reaction.

As always, Otacon hadn’t led him astray.

“It’s pretty damn good,” he said before swallowing. “What flavor was that one?”

“Oh, that’s part of the fun!” he said. “They aren’t labeled, so you usually have to guess! It’s like a game.”

“A game?”

“Here, try this one next!” Otacon said as he pushed another piece into Snake’s hand. "This one was my favorite as a kid. I bet you $20 you can't guess it."

As they stood together in their apartment, sampling candy after candy with each other, Snake’s cigarettes and the windows of automatically scrolling code on Otacon's PC were long forgotten.

And so, both men proceeded to enjoy saltwater taffy and each other's company for breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact! Do you know what flavor blue taffy with a yellow center is? It's passionfruit.


	4. Intermission - Harbormaster Town Dock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snake and Otacon spend Christmas Eve together, and one thing leads to another.

_Nantucket, Massachusetts_

_United States_

_41.2835° N, 70.0995° W_

_2006_

The holiday season in Nantucket was, in some ways, just as crazy as the summer season. While the city thrived mainly off the income from summer tourists, its Christmas Stroll event was a weeklong explosion of seasonal cheer that drew both locals and mainlanders to Main Street.

For Philanthropy, this strange influx of potential onlookers was a slight annoyance. But only a slight one.

While the crowds of people were hardly preferred, the duo had been in the town long enough to know their way around its different avenues and channels. They knew what times of day to stay indoors and places to avoid where the levels of congestion and crowds would be at its maximum. They also knew what areas tended to draw fewer people; or potential spies, in their minds.

The duo made alterations to their daily routines as a result. They restricted grocery or supply trips to the wee hours of the morning or late hours of the night. It was during these same windows that they always took the time to take daily walks together. They already lived on top of each other, but their separate activities kept them relatively disengaged, with Otacon at his the computer and Snake usually training or working out. So, they often like to recap the day’s activities with each other and share any updates during daily walks. Sometimes they drifted apart if one wanted privacy, other times they talked the entire time. Frequently, for comfort and safety reasons, they huddled together.

It was also during these long saunters that they frequently patronized vending machines for any early morning or late-night refreshments. They also learned that there was exactly one newspaper stand that opened early in the morning, sometimes before the streetlights went off. The elderly man sold magazines, daily newspapers, tabloids, cigarettes, and kind words to troubled souls that were also unfortunate enough to be awake at such an ungodly hour.

When possible, Snake and Otacon gave him business. On this occasion, they bought black coffee and protein bars.

“Looks like you’re finally getting some meat on your bones,” Snake teased, elbowing Otacon’s slightly larger bicep as they meandered to an abandoned street corner. They leaned against a colonial-style building with the intent of chatting, enjoying their food, and watching the sunrise. “Maybe soon I’ll have a stroke of luck and get you to start exercising.”

Otacon could only roll his eyes. “Thank you, but don’t think flattery will get you a field replacement, mister.”

“I would never put you through that,” Snake said. He bit into the bar and chewed a mouthful of vanilla-flavored paste.

In recent months, Philanthropy has started to gain traction as an NGO. In addition to its UN recognition, Mei Ling and Nastasha Romenenko had hopped on-board in a full-time capacity. Mei Ling was even diverting technology from the SSCEN for their organization, and although the gifts were few and far between, Philanthropy accepted all donations with open arms. The arrival of new technology usually resulted in a call to Nastasha to ask how it worked and what it could be used for.

Both women had been incredibly helpful, and thanks to their added prestige, the organization was drawing funds from quite a few private donors that believed wholeheartedly in the organization’s cause.

However, when there were supporters, enemies were not usually far behind. This included everything from casual internet-only complainers to actual pro-artillery entities that wanted to crush the team like a gnat under a thumb. While there hadn’t been any physical attempts on their lives (just hacking attempts that Otacon was easily able to circumvent) they had to keep their eyes peeled.

Thankfully, on a mostly vacant street at 4 a.m., there was little to watch out for. A light snowfall coated everything in a thin layer of crystalline shimmer. All the quaint storefronts had hung their holiday decorations, from wreaths to garlands, in celebration of the upcoming season. Nearly every inch of the historic corridor radiated cheery, rosy-cheeked energy.

They even witnessed a squirrel scurry across the street to burrow into the artificial wreath, decorated with holly and glittery toy boxes, on the door of the business across the street.

This drew a surprising comment from the soldier.

“This reminds me of Hawaii,” Snake remarked. “All the over-the-top decorations and gimmicks for tourists. People in summer colonies really do love winter holidays.”

Otacon furrowed his brow, leaning forward from the windowsill with genuine interest. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” Snake laughed as he chucked the finished can of iced black coffee into a nearby garbage bin. The metal clanged stridently against the rustic steel container, but thanks to the vacancy of the street at 4 a.m., nobody was around to care. “I remember this shop in Lahaina that sold Christmas ornaments year-round. Even in summer, the line would be out the door.”

“Lahaina?” Otacon asked. “Now, which island is that on?”

“Maui.”

Otacon took a contemplative sip of coffee. “Well, I guess Hawaii is home to a lot of armories and reserve centers for the National Guard and Civic Air Control. Station Maui is among the important and most active military installations run and operated by the United States Coast Guard…but Lahaina? That’s a pretty cushy place to visit, right? It’s kind of a tourist town.”

Laughter, warm like summer thunder, rumbled in Snake’s chest. “And Nantucket isn’t that?”

Otacon opened his mouth to object, but the words died.

Snake continued, “Besides, none of the islands of Hawaii are as huge as somewhere like…I don’t know, my mind is blanking. It’s 4 a.m.”

“Um, Texas?”

Another laugh. “An extreme example, but sure. Hell, some islands are smaller than New York. It’s not hard to get around.”

Otacon hummed a vague emotion and redirected his attention to the historic, cobblestone road. Imaginary memories of a twenty-something Snake sneaking out military buddies to roam the touristy landscapes, chase chickens through courtyards, or sleep barebacked on the warm sand flooded his mind. The man knew these fabricated instances were probably far from the truth of what his hardened friend had experienced, but because they showed images of his partner as happy and carefree, Otacon didn’t dare suppress them.

“Have you ever been?” Snake asked. “To Hawaii, I mean.”

“No,” Otacon said. “Never really been on my radar.”

If he ever traveled by plane, it was usually to visit his remaining family in Britain. As a result, he wasn’t particularly fond of air travel unless it was absolutely necessary. The act of boarding a plane usually caused negative feelings to boil inside him.

Meanwhile, Snake nodded at the simple answer. “Make sense. Places like that aren’t for everyone, but it’s a good time. We should go sometime.”

The ‘we’ part of that statement stirred equal parts happiness and confusion in Otacon. After all, when he’d first approached Snake about Philanthropy, he had anticipated that the partnership would be neutral at its best and strained at its worst. He knew their personalities were fairly compatible after how they’d successfully worked together at Shadow Moses and proved they’d lay their lives down for each other, but the engineer also anticipated that the stress of their antics would only accentuate any differences they had. It wasn’t like they were roommates from two different rugby teams suffering through an awkward streak in college. They were literally going up against some of the most powerful military entities in the world, and depending on where their temporary HQ was, they sometimes did it without hot water or a washing machine.

So far, at least, any significant tension had yet to manifest. Apparently, Snake even foresaw them as being partners into the future.

As for how long ‘sometime’ technically was, he wasn’t sure, but Otacon liked the sound of it.

“I’d like that,” he replied. He finished his can of coffee and tossed it into the waste bin. “You can be my tour guide. Show me all the best places to be a delinquent.”

Snake laughed. “You sure you can handle it?”

“After living with you?” he asked, reaching up to pluck the cigarette from Snake’s mouth, “I feel like I can handle anything.”

The act of boldness sparked something in Snake’s eyes that couldn’t completely be eclipsed by the winter night.

“I’m gonna hold you to those words, Emmerich.”

* * *

Philanthropy celebrated the holidays differently than most couples. Where others spent time and money shopping for gifts for the children or passive-aggressive in-laws, Snake and Otacon stayed hunkered in their small apartment and kept working. Or, more accurately, Otacon kept working. There wasn’t much for Snake to do between missions besides fill the gaps of time with exercise and helping Otacon with whatever he needed. This not only meant supply trips, but also tackling smaller missions. For example, if Otacon’s computer needed an obscure part or his sneaking suit needed to be upgraded with some borderline illegal military technology, it was Snake’s job to meet up with someone in Philanthropy’s network who could provide the part.

While Mei Ling usually provided all the technological toys, sometimes Nastasha linked him to a stranger. That, along with the steady line of incoming donations from private entities, was encouraging proof that Philanthropy’s existence was needed. Their desire to eradicate the world of Metal Gears was a cause that resonated with other like-minded individuals. The promise of a better future, one not fueled by the scourge of war, was what kept Snake motivated even during the more boring parts of their ventures.

It was enough to motivate him throughout the more boring spells between infiltrations, where he felt useless and antsy. When he was alone in Alaska, he could spend an entire day being productive with his dogs and end his nights drinking like a bum and not feel bad about it.

With Otacon, he felt this stubborn sense of pride. The same could be said vice versa. Without the presence of a hardened super soldier to remind him to stay alert and venture offline occasionally, it was quite possible he would have spent some days falling down Internet conspiracy rabbit holes – or worse – anime discourse forums. 

The point was, they both found ways to stay busy without lapsing into bad habits.

Then, before they knew it, Christmas Eve arrived.

And – in typical fashion – neither of them noticed at first.

After a hard day of work, both men cracked open beers and turned on the news. Partly because they wanted to double-check to make sure that mainstream media hadn’t pinned down their identities yet, and also, it was always a good time when some half-baked reporter went live from one of their infiltration jobs or talked about one of their successful cyber ‘attacks’, and how Philanthropy’s involvement was always suspected but could never be proven. Sometimes the FBI even released statements attributing other crimes of passion to their name, which was always a laugh.

The Christmas Eve broadcast was even more special because they’d actually recruited a random talking head to talk about the recent attacks and their impact on the political arena. Apparently, he’d been a former hopeful for the office President George Sears, but in being turned away from the political sphere because of his outspoken behavior, he had turned to a scorned political commentator. Apparently, he was also working on a manifesto, because of course he was.

 _“These people – whoever the hell they are – have the audacity to take this country’s justice system into their own hands!”_ the man screamed at the reporter. He’d been on screen for a grand total of five minutes but was already strawberry-colored from screaming so much. _“These demons are a threat to American society! They take the law into their own hands in their pursuit of half-assed vigilante justice! Destroying military equipment, private property … it’s an outrage! If they had any self-respect as citizens, they’d forfeit this useless endeavor and turn themselves in! People like them are the true preventers of peace.”_

Meanwhile, Snake and Otacon were laughing so much that they were falling over themselves.

“We need to invest in some PR,” Otacon said as he wiped a tear from his eye. “If we need to refute involvement in something that’s actually sleazy, I’m in no shape to write a press release.”

Snake downed the rest of his pale ale and let it land on the wooden table with a triumphant thump. “So we’ll put a word out to Nastasha to start recruitment on someone.”

“Just like that?” Otacon guffawed. “Well, I guess we can think of it as a business expense.”

“It’ll be one hell of a Christmas present,” Snake laughed. “But worth it.”

The other man chuckled. “A Christmas present, huh?

“Yeah, a…oh shit,” Snake said, pausing mid-sentence to look his partner directly in the eye. “Tomorrow is Christmas, isn’t it? I didn’t even think to ask if you, you know, celebrated any holidays.”

Snake wasn’t religious by nature, and since Christmas usually brought up memories from 1999 of him trudging through Zanzibarland to rescue Dr. Marv, he usually put thoughts of wintery celebration out of his brain for the sake of his literal sanity. However, even after all their time together, he had no clue if Otacon celebrated anything.

The engineer quirked a brow at the sudden revelation. “Well, to be fair, it’s never really come up in conversation. Last year, we were busy with getting Philanthropy off the ground. There were bigger fish to fry, I guess.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense…”

“Besides,” he added, “We were still acquaintances, I guess. I know it never dawned on me to ask you the same question.”

Shared blame. Par for the course, Snake thought. Of course, things were different now. They'd become much closer in the past year or so. 

“Fair enough,” he said. “I don’t celebrate anything. Didn’t really have a religious upbringing you know? But if you want to take a holiday tomorrow, you should. You’ve more than earned it.”

The engineer smiled, clearly appreciative. “That does sound nice, but all this Christmas Stroll stuff doesn’t really do anything for me.”

“No?”

“Well, I grew up Jewish, but since leaving home, I kind of fell off the bandwagon,” he confessed. “Not completely, but…yeah.”

The awkwardness subsided the moment Snake let out a laughter.

“So…we’re both free on Christmas Day, huh?” Snake asked as he took another puff on a cigarette.

“It would seem so,” the man laughed. Then, in typical Otacon fashion, he began to reminisce. “Back in college, I did the whole Chinese buffet thing on Christmas Day with a few friends. Man, we went crazy. Winter finals always wrapped up a few days beforehand, so after days of nonstop studying and surviving off coffee, we went crazy. We must have been their favorite customers.”

The image of a college-age Otacon acting goofy with friends in some vague Chinese buffet somewhere on the east coast made his heart swell.

“Well, you wanna go look at the trees?” Snake asked. “This town must have blown half its budget on trees and lights. It’s snowing, but it’s a nice night.”

The other man gave it some thought. “I guess that would be okay. You know, if we bundle up, people probably wouldn’t even recognize our faces.”

He was being overly careful, even though nobody had camera shots or footage of either one of them, so their faces were a moot point. However, Snake did appreciate his carefulness.

“Sounds good,” he said. “Well, let’s get bundled up.”

* * *

After donning their bulkiest coats and the two flannel scarves Snake had the good sense to bring from Alaska, the two ventured out onto the semi-populated streets of Nantucket.

The streets glittered with gold and shimmery lights that were only enhanced by the gentle snowfall. Every streetlight was lit castling long purple shadows across the brick-lined streets, colonial storefronts, and traditional saltbox houses lined top to bottom with worn gray shingles. Children dressed in expensive coats trimmed with lace ran up and down the streets ringing handbells, and many shopkeepers had dressed up for the Christmas Stroll occasion in their most festive attire. Women were donned in petticoats while others wore stereotypical, Nantucket-red pants in a myriad of cuts and styles. In fact, any individual not wearing trousers or a dress was donned in cherry-red pants.

“That’s one thing I won’t miss,” Snake quipped under his breath as they politely sidled other families and couples that were out for a romantic stroll.

The two made their way down the snowy streets, taking in the sights of the differently decorated trees that seemed to dot each street corner. The tall pines spiked gloriously against the clear, starry skies above, and some twinkled twice as much. One would be decorated in gold garlands and diamond baubles, and the next would be dripping in rainbow tinsel and cascading trails of ribbons, all accumulating in a massive bow at the top.

As they crossed Union Street, Snake slowed to window shop at the Gray Lady Smoke Shop. It was a moment later that Otacon whirled back around to grab his hand and pull him along.

The further the couple walked, the more deserted the streets began. Before they knew it, the crowds had officially petered out by the time they reached the shoreline near the Harbormaster Town Dock, where many smaller boats were tied to a more narrow pier that extended far out into the sea.

The last tree was a stone's throw away from the seaside building and, appropriately enough, it was a beach-themed creation decorated with silver shells, sand dollars made from sugar cookies, and – of course – a large starfish at the very top. The lights were large and featured ornately carved bulbs. They reminded Snake of the older-style lights that some of the stores in Twin Lakes, Alaska, used to string along the front of the general store or old antique shops. It filled him with a bit of nostalgia, but not of the unwelcome variety.

“Weird to see a summer-themed Christmas tree, huh?” Otacon asked.

“Little bit,” Snake agreed.

He thought about discreetly lighting a cigarette, but ultimately decided against it. The last thing they needed was some asshole cop reprimanding him for smoking near the docks.

Any area near the harbor was strictly non-smoking by law, after all, what with the floods of tourists constantly coming to and from the mainland. Local authorities didn't want any stray cigarette butts or small fires to ruin the town's pristine condition. 

With the hustle and bustle of Main Street forgotten, the two ambled down a set of rickety wooden steps at the edge of the dock until they were standing in the petit stripe of sand that locals called a shoreline. The winter winds rolling off the ocean were severe, but after being blanched by the glow of a sun’s worth of holiday lights, the icy air felt refreshing by comparison

The ocean was colored a deep gray under the night sky. Overhead, a large gold moon tinted the water bright white, highlighting the tiny waves that lazily lapped at the shoreline. In the distance, the small silhouette of the Brant Point Lighthouse was visible. Beyond that, the lights of festively decorated ferries looked like clusters of fairies dancing atop the waterline.

The two stood in silence and enjoyed the peace created by the distant sound of carolers and comforting sounds of the ocean. It was like they were alone in their own little world while someone, somewhere, was playing an old record one universe over. The sounds barely cascaded into their world, but when the notes broke the silence, it was with dreamy grace that made their gazes half-lidded and lured content smiles to their faces.

“This is nice,” Snake finally said, gruff voice almost washed out by the waves.

“It really is.”

While the night was nice, the cold was the only detractor. The blasts of brisk air from the sea lured the two closer to each other in search of warmth. Eventually, they were standing shoulder to shoulder to share heat.

When they finally registered each other’s warmth, they turned in unison to face each other in somewhat flustered surprise.

Surprise turned to bashful laughter, then silence again.

The warmth was too good to pull away from, so they stood in a trance staring into each other’s eyes, trying to silently gauge if the other was okay with the closeness. Eventually, as their mutual examinations continued, the distance between them began to close.

“You’re staring,” Snake whispered.

“So are you,” Otacon replied, but there was no fire behind his words. In fact, he spoke almost as if he was in a trance. “Is there…something on my face?”

“No,” he said, the word more of an exhale than an answer. “I’m just … looking at you.”

“O-Oh,” he said, mouth forming a surprised ‘o’ shape. “Y-Yeah, um, I guess I’m doing the same.”

A pause.

“I know,” Snake chuckled. While Otacon had grown used to seeing his partner grin, he’d yet to see him smile so tenderly. “I’m _looking_ at you.”

The man bristled slightly as a blush blossomed across his cheeks. He reached up to mess with his glasses to hide his embarrassment, but his jittery movements only called more attention to his flustered state. “O-Oh. Haha. Yeah, that’s right…”

Just as the winter sky kissed the ocean on the horizon, Snake’s icy eyes met Otacon’s oceanic ones. A gravitational force, as undeniable as it was insurmountable, continued to draw their worlds closer together.

First, their legs touched. Then, their stomach and chests met.

Then, their hearts met, and the warmth exploded.

Snake’s lips descended on Otacon’s slowly and nearly too carefully. It the other hadn’t tilted his head right at the right moment, their noses would have knocked and their teeth would have clanged. The end result was still technically imperfect, with the bulk of their scarves catching against their chins and flecks of melting snow melting over their eyelids, but to both of them, it was perfect in every way.

Both men joined hands and clasped at each other in the sparse crevice of space that remained between their bodies. After a few moments, Snake removed his hands so they could drift upwards and cup Otacon’s face, simultaneously warming his wind-beaten skin and shielding them from more snowfall.

The kiss ended moments later when Otacon gently lulled his head back, his cheeks red and eyes sparkling. His vague expression was broken by an apprehensive grin. “David…this…is okay, right?”

The sentence confused Snake. He squinted his eyes, suddenly fearing he’d overstepped a boundary.

“Oh, no! _No, no, no,_ I’m saying it is okay!” Otacon backpedaled, his voice almost shrill from panic. “I mean…for me…it is. It’s _more_ than okay. But, we have Philanthropy, and I don’t want to…I mean…this isn’t wrong, right?”

Ah, so that was it. The sudden break in tension caused Snake to heave a sigh of relief, which condensed in the icy air like a puff of cigarette smoke.

“How can it be wrong?” Snake whispered. “I mean … it’s _you._ ”

Otacon swore at that moment he was a few degrees from melting.

When their mouths met again, it was pure kismet. It was still a careful kiss, but with the added consensus that both wanted it, they let their inhibitions go. Otacon’s hands slid into Snakes’ hair, fisting the strands gingerly while Snake continued to hold his partner’s face in his. Calloused and crooked fingertips finding solace on Otacon’s temples and across the planes of his cheekbones.

The added pressure of their mouths, more intense than last time, encouraged both to part their lips to deepen the kiss. Their tongues prodded each other’s bottom lips, simultaneously begging for permission that they also granted each other in unison. Otacon nibbled at Snake’s lower lip, sucking it ever so gently into his mouth. When the man groaned at the feeling, Otacon swallowed the sound as he dove in again and dragged Snake back into another cosmic meeting of their mouths.

Overcome with passion and protective energy, he released his grip on his partner’s face to wrap his arms around Otacon’s torso, still slightly narrower than his even with the added bulk of the coats. His hands clenched his waist, pulling their hips closer in a dangerous way that, when paired with the kiss, had the potential to turn perilously quickly.

When they broke apart a second time, gasping for air, their foreheads slumped together lazily. White halos of snow clung to their heads, and after a few pants, nervous laughter tumbled from both their mouths

“Well, we’ve never been good at keeping secrets from each other,” Snake said. “I guess this confirms it.”

Otacon rolled his bottom lip between his teeth and smirked. “You could certainly say that.”

As they backed away and dusted the snow from their heads and shoulders, Snake gave his partner a look. His gaze licked over the man with new appreciation from top to bottom. However, unlike all the other times, he didn’t feel a twinge of guilt over letting his eyes linger for too long.

“…Hal, you said something before,” he started. “About Philanthropy, and…not wanting to risk it. I don’t want that either.”

Even behind fogged glasses, the other man’s joy was as clear as day. “Yeah?”

He nodded firmly. “Nothing has changed about our mission. I’m prepared to not let this… _us_ get in the way of it. No matter what happens, I’m with you.”

The other man squared his shoulders and crossed his arms. “Of course. I’d expect nothing less than such devotion from the staunchly professional Solid Snake.”

The man groaned and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. It was his turn to huff in embarrassment as his eyes fell on the snow-dusted sand. “Come on, you know what I mean.”

Another light laugh. “I do. I mean, judging by the fact that we just...kissed twice, I think we may feel the same way.”

That was solid enough logic for Snake. He slung an arm around the man's shoulder to bring their bodies back together again. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

The two spent a few more minutes on the beach enjoying the quiet and moonlight. Only when the artic air off the water became unbearable did they both decide it was time to begin the trek back to the apartment.

As they made their way back, most of the shops had closed their doors and many of the couples and families from before had since cleared out and gone back home.

About halfway through the walk, Otacon reached out and took his partner’s hand in his.

“It’s really cold out,” Otacon said when Snake offered him a curious stare. “This…feels better, don’t you think?”

As Snake thought about the past year and a half he’d spent with Otacon and everything they’d been through as a duo, from their first meeting in an icy Alaska lab to their first kiss on a freezing cold beach, he couldn’t help but agree wholeheartedly.

“…Yes,” Snake husked, returning the sentiment with a firm squeeze. “This is much better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s finally autumn, everyone!
> 
> So…I wrote a winter fic.
> 
> Okay, summer and winter are my favorite seasons, and with Snake and Otacon still in Nantucket for this chapter, I thought it would be a great opportunity to blend the two together. The Christmas Stroll is a real event, and all the places described in this fic are real as well. I wanted things to feel as real as possible.
> 
> Besides, this year has been so wonky, I feel like summer was a blip on the radar and winter is kind of this glimmer of hope on the horizon.
> 
> What better way to symbolize a relationship built on hardship that has a hopeful future ahead?
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed it.
> 
> I love all of you and hope you are staying as safe as possible. I’ll see you all back here soon. Buckle up, because we're en route to New York, where there are some claims coming through the grapevine about a mysterious tanker that's going to be passing through Manhattan Harbor. I don't know...it's probably nothing, don't you think?
> 
> Anyway, buh-bye for now!


	5. Poughkeepsie - 2007

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Philanthropy gains traction as an organization, Snake and Otacon find themselves the targets of a growing conspiracy. They realize Nantucket is no longer safe, and after receiving a tip for Nastasha, make a beeline to New York.

_Nantucket, Massachusetts_

_United States_

_41.2835° N, 70.0995° W_

_2006_

While the rest of the world celebrated New Year’s Eve with confetti-clad bangs and bouquets of fireworks, Snake and Otacon’s celebration began and ended with more metaphorical explosions.

Since their kiss at the harbor, the two had comfortably settled into a semi-new routine. They still worked themselves ragged and kept up their routine of early morning and late-night walks. Hell, they even bickered occasionally (but what couples saving the world from illegal military tech didn’t). Things remained mostly the same, but it was at the end of their multi-day work stints where the executables related to their ongoing partnership were updated and relaunched to account for the new data.

That was to say, they ended up in each other’s bed, laps and arms much more often than before. New Year’s Eve, of course, was no exception.

When the television reporter wearing a puffy snow cap and way too much silver lip gloss counted down to the ball dropping in Times Square just over 280 miles away from their current hideout, they were already camped out in front of the television with a cooler of beer and enough dollar store snacks to feed a small army.

“Any resolutions?” Snake asked while passing Otacon a frosty can of beer.

Otacon reached over his head and accepted the can with a gentle ‘thank you’ before placing it atop his bouncing knee. “Eh, not really.”

“No?”

“Well, actions are more important than words, in my opinion.”

Snake nodded in solidarity. “I figured you and I were in a similar camp on this type of thing.”

At this, Otacon took issue. “Wait, at least _one_ person in a fam—or, at a party or something has to have a new resolution. It’s like a rule!”

The slip didn’t miss Snake’s attention.

“A rule for you, maybe,” he replied with a shrug. “Also, aren’t you being a little hypocritical? I thought we agreed.”

The jest was all in good fun, but in Otacon’s mind, any type of challenge was still a challenge. 

He cracked the can open and shook the foam off his fingertips. “I guess…if I had to pick, I’d say that I wish the best for Philanthropy.”

“That’s it?” he asked. “C’mon, Hal. If you’re going to choose a resolution, you’ve got to pick something a little more personal.”

Otacon gave his partner a look from behind his glasses and almost too measuredly sat the can down on the table. After a few moments of stroking his jaw in thought, he had an epiphany. “Oh, I know! I know something I really want.”

“What?”

“My resolution is to always have a comeback for all your smartass comments,” Otacon said, placing his hands together so they formed a steeple in front of his mouth. In a cherub-like singsong, he added, “And that you come back from every mission safe and sound so I can continue to give you grief about your terrible smoking and drinking habits for as long as we both live.”

The corners of Snake’s mouth pulled upward at the sentiment.

“So, to us?”

At that, Otacon agreed. “Fine. That’s much catchier. To us.”

They clinked bottles and, just like they’d always done, wound their arms around each other’s in a double helix and drank from each other’s drinks to seal the deal.

_“Three…two…one! Happy New Year!”_

The sound of applause roared toward the heavens with the gusto of an oceanic wave. The excitement was contagious, and of course, Otacon took the opportunity to pop one of their party poppers (also from the dollar store) and laugh in delight at the explosion of color and sound.

Snake, meanwhile, had long since looked away from the television in favor of watching his partner’s reaction. The second Otacon turned to his partner and saw the smokiness of his gaze glinting dangerously in the television’s light, the silent request was so obvious that Snake didn’t even have to vocalize it.

Otacon replied to his partner’s inquiry with a smile and subtle lofting of his brows, granting permission.

A surge of confidence bolted through the solider and, with one braced a hand on the back of the sofa, he leaned in for a kiss. Otacon met him in the middle, mouth split in a grin as they peppered each other’s mouths with gentle touches.

One kiss then turned to three, then five, and then too many to count as they collapsed onto the seat in a tangled pile.

“Dave—hey!” Otacon sputtered, laughing between their kisses. “Jeez, you’re like a puppy!”

When Snake eyed him, the other man was quick to cup his face between his thin hands and ruffle his hair like one would with any canine companion. Snake would have been more offended if he didn’t know how much Otacon adored dogs, and it was also a result of this knowledge that his partner’s cooing voice and rosy cheeks caused a blush to creep up his neck and explode heatedly across his face.

He countered this by pressing his face against the exposed patch of Otacon’s neck above his collar, nosing the velvety skin beneath his shadowed jaw. For the first time, Snake was so thankful for Otacon’s baggy sweatshirt collection and how easy it was to pull and tug the billowy cotton in all the right places.

As Snake nestled comfortably atop his slightly shorter partner, Otacon managed to enfold the soldier and create somewhat of a cocoon around him.

“You’re already exhausted,” Otacon said. It wasn’t a question.

The other man nodded, hands finding purchase along his partner’s bumpy spine. It seemed like age was catching up to him already. Not that he would ever admit it, though.

“We have been working ourselves hard lately,” Snake reminded him. “You’re tired too.”

“I’m never tired,” Otacon quipped, and Snake snorted. Regardless of his partner’s indignance regarding the subject, he rubbed soft circles along the spine, treasuring the casual intimacy just as much as their more heated kisses.

“Look at you, getting worked up and then passing out two minutes after midnight,” he teased playfully, fingers skimming Snake's cheekbones and stroking the dyed tufts of brown hair. “What am I going to do with you?”

Snake smiled against the pulsebeat of Otacon’s throat. “I guess you’ll just have to watch over me, doc. Stay here until I wake up, you know.”

Chlorine-colored eyes squinted in mock suspicion behind his glasses. “Oh, _really_? Is that so?”

The soldier smirked up at him, hands pausing their roaming at the waistband of Hal’s pants. “I’m afraid so. However, if you have a more professional opinion, I’d be very curious to hear it.”

The other man hummed again in pseudo contemplation, sounding more and more like a mad scientist from an old Hollywood film than the actual engineer he was. It was quite a theatric endeavor, and would have been quite convincing too if he hadn’t been smiling practically the entire time.

“Well, as long as you’ve given my authority over your health, I’m going to recommend we both at least brush our teeth first,” he said, wagging a finger to pair with his stereotypical doctor persona.

Snake hummed and dropped his head onto Otacon’s chest. “Hngh. Can’t. Too sleepy to move.”

“What? No, no, no,” Otacon countered. “Oh, you are _not_ falling asleep on top of me, mister!”

As Snake continued to put more weight on him, careful to not actually hurt or detain his partner in any way, Otacon played along by trying to shove him upright again. This, very realistically, was an actual failure.

“Ngh! You’re heavy!” Otacon yelled, flailing his arms in protest.

“First of all, rude. Second of all, light is fading…this is the end…”

“No, Snake! _Snaaake!_ ”

The two ended up falling asleep on the sofa and, thanks to the fireworks and loud parties stretching long into the night, they had the added bonus of no noise complaints.

* * *

Saying goodbye to Nantucket hit Snake both differently than saying goodbye to St. Louis, and yet, the sentiment was also so strikingly similar in its inability to be named. The unsaid feeling was sneaky and somehow sank its serrated teeth into Snakes’ mind, latching on like a tick and hiding between the folds of his brain, and no matter how much he itched, the feeling wouldn’t go away.

It was frustrating because, for his whole life, he’d been trained to not be prone to such fanciful, vague tendencies. He’d learned during his years in the Green Berets and special forces to not become attached to places or people. Hopping from place to place, team to team, was just part of the gig, he always said. ‘Being a solider—and all that,’ was the typical come back, usually after he’d downed a few cans of beer to numb the real pain he was too scared to confess to others and himself.

However, as he and Otacon loaded semi-collapsed cardboard boxes of computer parts and terribly folded sweatshirts into their car and waved one last time as their neighbor – a blonde woman with two Labradoodles who always wore crocheted halter-tops – he couldn’t help but feel a dull pang of...something in his chest. What that something was he didn’t exactly know, but he theorized that it was something kinder than more bittersweet than nostalgia but kinder than remorse.

After one last pass over to make sure nothing was forgotten, Otacon tossed their keys to their old landlord, who was shirtless except for a pair of swim trunks, and waved goodbye.

“Where next?” Snake asked as he slinked into the passenger seat. The second the door shut, Otacon slipped the key in the ignition and dipped out of the postage-stamp-sized parking at a lackadaisical speed.

“Good ol’ New York,” he answered, unfolding a map and tracing their impending route with his fingers. “You wanna debrief a little now?”

Skipping foreplay, huh? That was never a good sign when it came to missions.

“Is it safe to do that now?” he inquired, the cadence of his voice changing with the sincerity of the question.

As the tires crunched over gravel, lines of saltbox houses began to roll by at a steadily increasing pace.

“We’re almost to the highway, and I combed the car last night for any bugs,” Otacon shrugged. “I’m cool if you are.”

That was all he needed to hear. “Lay it on me.”

“Let’s see…Nastasha got a tip that some of the miniaturized technology we used to conceptualize REX with help from Rivermore National Labs was recently swiped from DARPA’s Arlington headquarters. After the breath, satellite and tollbooth data showed suspects in a tan Humvee leaving Virginia a few days and making a beeline for the New York suburbs. They had apparently visited the facility as some part of a government-sanctioned tour, but once word got out to the higher-ups that nothing had been verified, people started whistleblowing to the media, and…well, here we are.”

That explained how Nastasha had gotten ahold of so much footage and information so quickly. Officials at DARPA were likely panicking over the breach. Any secrecy about their former dealings was out the window regardless, so the earlier damage control could be started, the better.

“Do we know specifically what they swiped?” Snake asked, hands finicking with his lighter. “I doubt Metal Gear specs are all that DARPA has up their sleeves. It could be a false-positive.”

“That was my first thought too until Nastasha wired me the surveillance footage,” Otacon said. “Apparently, one of the cameras caught a rouge officer slipping a personal drive into one of the office’s computers. I used to visit that department sometimes when I visited with other ArmsTech team members to meet with Chief Anderson about the project, and I recognized the area immediately. Of all the computers they could have targeted in the room, they went to the laptop loaded with AutoCAD, meaning it’s ideal for engineers to use with blueprints.”

“…What software did you use to mock-up REX?” Snake asked, squinting.

Otacon kept his gaze on the highway. “AutoCAD. In fact, when I visited, that was the computer I worked on.”

Finally, the lighter sparked.

“Well, I hope you don’t mind your blueprints getting onto the black market,” Snake muttered, tone dipping until it almost sounded apologetic. He knew that had to be hard news for Otacon to stomach, let alone tell someone else. Snake knew leaks of those blueprints in any market would be bad, and the trouble would only be amplified if the information landed in the hands of a credible developer with a lot of artillery experience and a loaded budget for the endeavor.

As if psychic, Otacon chimed in and said, “There’s something else.”

“Oh, yay.”

“I couldn’t make it out clearly, but…it looked like one of the men was missing an arm,” Otacon said. “His right arm.”

Snake didn’t flinch even as hot ash dripped onto his thigh, threatening to burn a hole in his jeans. _Ocelot._

“Jesus,” Snake mumbled under his breath. “If that’s true, then…”

“It’s all circumstantial, I know, but…I _know_ that lab,” Otacon insisted. One hand curled into fist, causing the map to crinkle angrily under the pressure. His other hand remained locked on the top of the wheel. “I worked on that computer and know it had walls upon walls of security. You _can’t_ just slip an outside flash drive willy-nilly and pull stuff off. Whatever that visitor used was specifically targeted to breach DARPA’s firewalls. That’s heavy-duty stuff. Even I had to be granted special access on occasion, and I was a project lead. They either have an inside agent, or someone with a lot of permissions is on their side.”

Snake nodded, drinking all the information in with his signature silence. He was focused, his finely-tuned brained rifling through possibilities a million miles a minute.

“You said you know that lab,” Snake posed amidst the silence. “Can you remember what was on that computer? Or, do you have back-ups of the data?”

“I wish I did, but I only used that lab a few times before I was transferred to on-site work at Shadow Moses,” Otacon said. “Obviously, they ported all the data and test drives to my new lab so we could continue to run theoretical experiments before launch, but I couldn’t tell you what was added or wiped from that specific machine after I left.”

That made sense, Snake realized with a groan. It also made things more difficult.

“Do we have access to what data was pulled?” he asked, taking a shot in the dark.

“Not without sneaking in ourselves and copying the PC data on our own drive.”

“…Why do I suddenly have a bad feeling?” Snake asked, finally giving in and lighting the cigarette. He sucked a think tendril of smoke through the filter and exhaled out the window.

Otacon flicked on the turn signal and effortlessly merged into the left lane to pass an 18-wheeler. “Don’t worry. I don’t think it’s a constructive use of our time to send you into DARPA as a rogue operative. It’s too time-consuming and dangerous. I say we move on.”

“So we’re going to do a little reconnaissance at their destination, huh?” Snake concluded.

The engineer nodded, hands bracing the wheel as another car closed in on their bumper. He sped up to try and outpace them, but the mysterious truck kept up the pace. His brow puckered, but he played it off. The last thing Philanthropy needed was a damn speeding ticket.

“The ferry off the island leaves in an hour,” Otacon said, eyes fixated on the rearview mirror. “We’ll be back on continental soil shortly in two hours, then it’s a four-hour drive to Poughkeepsie. Mei Ling has arranged accommodations for us.”

“…Why Poughkeepsie?” Snake asked. Of all places in New York, it seemed like a weird destination. Almost as weird as Nantucket.

“Well, the town fronts the Hudson River,” Otacon said. “It’s kind of small, but you have access to a major waterway. It would be easy to covertly sneak things on and off boats…if you know what I mean.”

“…Okay, fair point,” Snake replied, filling his lungs with another drag. The truck was riding their ass obviously, close enough to catch embers from his cigarette.

Finally, Otacon broke the rising tension. “By the way, this truck has been…”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Snake said, peering out the window as inconspicuously as possible. The windows were too tinted to make out the driver’s identity, but judging from the bulky line of silhouettes that rose from the other side of the windshield like a rocky horizon, they weren’t alone.

The two exchanged glances, and Otacon’s eyes when wide behind his glasses.

“Wait, you don’t think…”

Suddenly, their vehicle jolted.

The truck had sped up and, very deliberately, rammed into the backside of their much smaller car.

“Hey!” Otacon exclaimed loudly, as if the offender could hear his cries. “What the hell are they doing?”

Snake was already unbuckling and reaching under his seat for the secret compartment they stashed their small firearms in. He opened the steel box and pulled out a Beretta M9, already fully loaded. After clicking the safety off with a flick of his finger, he leaned toward the window but kept his head tucked inside. Slowly, he cranked down the glass, watching keenly for any signs of firearms or other weapons as he did so.

It was impossible to get a good look at the driver without sticking his head completely out the window, but when he wasn’t sure what firepower the vehicle was packing, Snake wasn’t overly inclined to just hand them an open invitation for a headshot. The risk was too substantial.

While Snake weighed combative options, Otacon sped up in an attempt to evade them. The 18-wheeler faded into the distance behind them, and Snake watched from afar as the driver adjusted his cap in disbelief, then reached for his radio. Seconds later, the truck whizzed passed and continued its pursuit. No doubt he was calling in law enforcement.

Great.

If there was any chance at all of the police picking up on their trail, guns were not an option at all unless they were in an area with no witnesses.

“Otacon, we need more distance!” he said, eyes trained on the truck as it veered across lances, effectively spooking all other highway drivers into falling back. “I can’t shoot them if they’re veering all around with others on the road! You have to get us further ahead!”

“I’m trying!” Otacon replied through clenched teeth as his foot continued to press the ignition pedal down to the floor. All the while, the forest-lined highway created a series of dizzying turns and winding roadways that he had to weave through, all while maintaining a constant speed.

At the next straightaway, the truck shot forward and slammed into them. Snake nearly collapsed onto the floor from the force, only rescued by the fact that he’d grabbed onto the passenger seat headrest at the last second.

The force was enough, however, to send Otacon into the driver’s side door. A harsh pop was audible even over the screeching of tires. The obvious injury didn’t stop him, and he used his one good arm to keep driving while his awkwardly bent shoulder was resigned against his side.

“Snake—” Otacon gasped, glassed lopsided and arm already reddening from how harshly he’d been thrown against the side door.

The soldier nodded at popped out the window. With as careful of aim as he could manage, he hit their front-right tire on the first try. It was enough to make the truck fumble, giving Snake and Otacon instantly more distance while the driver tried to over-correct for the loss of control. Sparks flew as metal scraped the roadway, which also helped slow them down. Otacon let up a bit on the acceleration just enough so Snake could line up another shot.

With the next bullet, he hit the left tire center. The tire deflated like a balloon-filled paper mâché project and the loss of stability sent the vehicle careening off the highway, taking out a yield sign and flimsy guardrail along the way. The poles bend like pipe-cleaners, catching the underside of their car just enough the snag integral machinery. It skidded into a hard turn and crumbled off the side of the roadway, a few pine trees catching it before it could roll further into the woods.

This was their chance.

“Otacon, floor it!”

The engineer obeyed and took off down the road, leaving the car behind to smoke in a ditch, red and blue light illuminating the wreckage.

* * *

_Poughkeepsie, New York_

_United States_

_41.7004° N, 73.9210° W_

_2007_

Six hours later, Snake did all the talking when it came to checking into the room. The receptionist, an elderly woman who appeared to be more fascinated with _Twilight Zone_ reruns than the brooding man before her, passed him the paperwork through the Plexiglass shield. “Alrighty, young man. I just need your signature here and your payment for the room, and you should be set.”

All the fake identity information Nastasha and Otacon had equipped him with was written in ink on the release form, which he exchanged with the woman for a small key with a broken keychain.

He signed an overly flowery faux signature at the bottom of the form and slid it back to her carefully. Of all the things Snake had done in life, he'd never use fake identification to rent a motel room before. Although the sleepy old receptionist before him didn't seem to have a care in the world, he still felt on-edge.

She took the paper and held it to her eyes, squinting to make out the words under the harsh fluorescent light.

“Alright mister…Justin Bailey, here’s your key,” she rasped, her voice thick from too many years of smoking. After handing him the key, her hand came to rest atop the head of an elderly calico cat that had settled cozily in her lap. “You and your husband will be in Room 7. Telephone numbers are next to the phone. The ice machine is to the left of the lobby. Oh, and no smoking, please."

She sounded like a counselor reading a script of rules at summer camp.

“Thank you,” Snake said, accepting the key and quickly ducking back to the car.

He pulled it around the side of the building and found, to his delight, that two of the streetlights were out. That meant half the parking lot was shrouded in darkness. It was the perfect cover for parking their still-working car, grabbing the sparsest of essentials, and transporting his partner safe inside.

After narrowly escaping the car chase with their skin, Snake had taken over driving while Otacon chewed painkillers and slept. He would have stopped to tend to his injuries sooner, but with the ferry deporting and a lack of private quarters, social protocol pretty much dictated that popping Otacon’s arm back into place would attract too much attention in public. Plus, both were still paranoid about being chased again and agreed that keeping up a steady pace would be the best option.

The engineer was a trooper the entire time, never letting his breezy facade falter as long as they were in public. A quick fashioning with some gauze from the first aid kit gave him the look of a broken arm in a pinch, and many of the Waspy couples aboard the ferry had been more than happy to leave the two strange men alone and not ask any questions. Most of them barely turned their heads to the two, preferring to sip Manhattans and discuss their latest art auction findings until the trip was over.

After touching ground, they retrieved their car from the Steamship Authority Ferry and got back on the road. It was around 6 p.m. when they rolled across the New York border and limped into the safety of their motel room.

After six hours in pain, Otacon’s positive mood was starting to falter. Mainly because they had run out of painkillers and, no matter how much Snake offered, he really didn’t think a cigarette would calm him down.

As soon as the door was locked and Hal was on the bed, Snake was at his side instantly. “Shirt off, okay?”

Otacon nodded and helped his partner tug the cloth over his head of ashy hair. Snake’s hands, rough and warm, applied the barest of pressure until the cloth was unhooked from his injured soldier. With the softest of grunts, Otacon shucked his into the floor and angled his torso toward Snake, whose palms flattened against his back as he went to work.

“How the hell am I always the one stuck driving when something crazy like that happens?” Otacon asked as Snake examined his shoulder, studying the warped skin with all the tenacity of a medical student combing over a specimen. It took only a few glances to confirm the situation was just as Snake suspected. It was easy to see his shoulder had been dislodged during the chase, and petals of purple were already starting to bloom across his collar and back.

“Would you have rather done the shooting?” Snake asked teasingly.

Hal puffed a cheek in annoyance. “Of course not. I would have missed every shot if I’d had to do it!”

The soldier laughed, appreciating that his partner seemed to be emotionally intact after the experience. Wounds of the mind were far less simple to heal than a dislocated shoulder. “Well, the good news is you’re mostly fine. We just have to—”

“Who do you think those guys were, anyway?” Otacon interrupted, whipping his head back to stare into Snake’s eyes. “I know we covered our tracks well enough in Nantucket, so how did they know who we were, and why the heck did they want to hurt us?”

“We can worry about that next,” Snake said. “Hal, about your shoulder, we going to have to—”

“It’s clear they were targeting us too,” he continued, undeterred. “Snake, please tell me you got their license number and details on their car? The windows looked super tinted, but even if we have information on the vehicle, that’s enough to put a call out to the others and have them look into it. I bet Mei Ling or I could pull the highway patrol’s report easily.”

“I’m sure she can, and we’ll talk to her about that, but Hal—”

“They had to have been waiting for us to leave,” Otacon theorized. “Someone has it out for us, or is at least watching us. I think we—”

“Hal.”

“Dave, you notice how I keep interrupting you?” Otacon asked rhetorically. “It’s because I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to say that you have to pop my shoulder back into place, aren’t you?”

The soldier sighed, fingertips resting over his skin and gently massaging. “Yes, Hal.”

He heaved a mighty sigh and pushed on his glasses which, miraculously, were completely unharmed despite the ordeal their owner had just been through. “Ugh. Well, get on with it.”

Instead of following orders, Snake told his partner to ‘wait a second’ as he rose to his feet and padded into the kitchen. He rustled around a bit inside a duffel bag that carried their provisions. All Otacon could hear on his end was the distinct clinking of glass-on-glass.

Snake returned with a shot glass filled to the brim with clear fluid. He extended it to Otacon, who accepted it hesitantly.

“Take this first,” Snake advised in an even tone.

“What is it?” Otacon asked as if had no earthly idea what a shot glass full of clear liquid could possibly be. He sniffed the glass and winced. “I don’t know what I expected.”

Snake continued to map out the anatomy of Otacon’s arm, silently calculating where to press and how much force to apply to what points. His brain built a schematic of the thin man’s arm in his mind, silently going through each of his options in an attempt to pick the fastest and least painful one.

In a way, it was funny, Snake thought in the deepest part of his mind. He’d popped sockets for many companions before, but Otacon was…special. He didn’t just want to help his friend through the pain, but he wanted to make the process as fast and relatively painless as possible. It was a desire that went beyond common courtesy and was much more based on love than pity. Just because Otacon could handle the pain, Snake knew, he still didn’t want to put him through it.

“You don’t have to drink it,” Snake said. “I just thought—”

Otacon tilted his head back and downed the shot in one swig. Clean as a whistle, he sat the glass down and exhaled deeply, allowing the alcohol to burn down his throat, simmer behind his eyes and soak into the pores of his insides, numbing the pain and leaving a buzzing warmth behind.

All the while, Snake was stunned by the display. He’s never seen Otacon drink anything harder than a beer and, seeing him gulp down the alcohol breezily, in a twisted way, was kind of attractive.

“Damn,” he said, his reply as inelegant as his agape expression. Next time he’d bring a bigger glass.

After a single cough, Otacon pressed his face into his hand and nodded. “Okay. Ready. Go.”

Snake obliged and popped the shoulder back into its socket with a firm, brisk tug. The sound was awful and deeply unnatural, like bone scraping bone. Otacon wretched and let out a pained cry, then shook in the aftermath of the pain. All the while, Snake wrapped and arm around his trembling shoulders and held him close, as if he was trying to suppress the panicked vibrations with the weight of his own, bare skin.

“You’re okay,” Snake repeated over and over again. “Ride it out. Let the pain roll through you.”

A few labored breaths later and Otacon lifted his head, blinking back barely withheld tears. “Ugh…holy…ugh.”

At this, Snake laughed and patted his back. “There you go. You badass.”

“Ugh, not by choice,” Otacon rasped, then laughed despite himself. He stayed like that for a moment, his head laying against Snake’s shoulder. “In fact, I think I’ll take some water this time.”

Snake was on his feet quickly and eagerly returned to the kitchen to grant his partner’s wish.

* * *

Apparently, Otacon’s circadian rhythm was too strong to be stopped by pain or alcohol. When he blinked awake from sleep at 3 a.m., he found the heather-gray material of Snake’s T-shirt mere inches from his eyes. Sighing, he rolled over and peered at the motel’s cheap bedside clock. Sure enough, the mid-morning time blinked back at him with almost nauseating brightness.

With a groan, he sat up and decided to reach for his laptop, which Snake had courteously placed on the adjacent nightstand before they’d both fallen asleep. Reaching for his computer mere moments after waking up was more of a reflex than anything, but he supposed it would be good to double-check a few things as long as he was conscious.

The first thing he did was click open his email. With a tap of the Send/Receive button, he minimized it temporarily so he could check other sites while his inbox loaded. Of course, he tabbed through the usual range of news sites and did keyword searches for his usual list of terms. For each one, aside from the generic breaking news updates following the DARPA infiltration, there was nothing.

He then scanned the news for updates on the wreck. The only outlet to report on it was some small, municipal weekly probably with a mail route in the area where the crash had taken place on the island. The details were minimal, but he sent a memo to Mei Ling to keep an eye on the reports and watch for when names were released. Only then would they know what threads to pull on to unravel the mystery behind the attack.

Until then, Otacon decided to treat himself by not drowning in speculation. He was sore and tired, and already missing his partner’s embrace.

He clicked out of the news site and, after refreshing a few more times, decided they were in the clear.

A sigh of relief left him. Things were looking up.

He minimized TOR and hopped back into his personal email, perusing it casually. There was the usual laundry list of spam from phishing schemes and the occasional promise of ‘No charge to browse pics of singles in your area!’ but otherwise, nothing remarkable. He tapped the mouse pad idly with one hand and scrubbed his bleary eyes with the heel of his palm with the other. The lack of input from anywhere was borderline mundane.

For some reason, the complete lack of news did more to unsettle him than comfort him. Mere hours before, a car had attempted to run them off the roadway and kill them. That didn’t happen to normal grassroots activists.

There had to be something. There was a piece of the puzzle that he, Hal Emmerich, was _missing._

As a last-ditch effort, he decided to check his older work account. They’d given him a default address when he’d worked with them on programming REX at ArmsTech Security. For some reason, they hadn’t terminated his linked email account, and the expansive list of contacts he had in his address book would be more than helpful for Philanthropy’s networking and tracing measures. He made a mental note to copy all that data before his luck ran out and they erased his account.

Hal logged in effortlessly and, sure enough, the screen lit up bright blue as the familiar interface loaded before his eyes.

All the unopened emails he’d left behind remained untouched, but at the very top, there was an email and sender that caught his eye.

 **Subject:** Some information you may want.

 **Sender:** E.E.

 **Recipient** : Emmerich, Hal (emmerichh80@arm...)

His laptop almost fell off his knees. The silence of the room was punctured by a sharp gasp, which he cursed himself for making because he knew, he knew his partner would wake up.

Sure enough, the bed creaked beneath him seconds later.

“Otacon?” Snake asked, voice still cloudy with sleep. “Hngh…you okay?”

The other man shut his laptop slowly, as to not raise suspicion.

“Fine,” he replied. The bright white email screen was immediately extinguished, allowing darkness to flood the nooks and crannies of the tiny bedroom. “I mean, I’m fine. Just restless and thought I’d check on things.”

“Hm,” Snake hummed. “Is there a problem?”

There was genuine concern in his voice. Not professional disdain the accompanies an annoying email or a last-minute phone call on a Friday afternoon, but sincere softness that almost spurred the engineer to open up about everything. However, he knew as soon as he started talking about E.E. and his past…there’d be no stopping it.

The man turned around and slinked back into bed. He found solace against the warmth of his partner’s chest.

“...No problem at all,” Otacon said, sinking his cheek against the reassuring, strong sound of Snake’s heartbeat. “We’re good.”

He made a silent promise to let him know tomorrow. In the morning, he’d investigate the strange email. It was probably nothing; just some hacker with too much personal information on Dr. Hal Emmerich taking a shot in the dark and hoping it hit. Or, perhaps there was more to it. Then they’d have to begin the arduous planning process that always preceded every operation.

In that moment, however, Otacon didn’t want to disrupt their slumber with conjecture.

So, he wrapped his arms around his partner and held him close, protecting whatever sanctity he knew the future was waiting with barred jaws to rip away from them at any second.

* * *

_Boston, Massachusetts_

_United States_

_42.3601° N, 71.0589° W_

_1995_

“I’m home.”

Hal stood in the entryway of his house, quickly freeing his house key from the lock before closing the front door. He locked it behind with the flick of a wrist and waited a beat to see if anyone returned his call.

When silence greeted him, the 15-year-old let out a sigh of relief. Luck was on his side, it seemed. It seemed like he was in for another isolated evening in his room. Not that he minded that. In fact, the teen got a thrill browsing the corners of the web on the computer he’d built from the ground up. The machine was comprised of spare parts and old machines his father had brought home, burned through and nearly discarded before Hal had salvaged them. His father’s work required the use of heavy-duty tech and, either due to the intensity of his workload or his lack of prowess, the turnover rate was high. For the teen, it was the perfect opportunity to experiment with web-surfing, software pirating, torrenting, and playing around with any line of code he could sink a cursor into.

As he mounted the stairs to head off to his room, he heard a series of clicks and the humming of a nonsense melody coming from the living room.

Apparently, he wasn’t as alone as he thought.

A quick venture into the houses’ ground floor living room, which was about 15 feet from the foyer, revealed a little girl sitting in the middle of the living room. She was dressed in a flower-printed turtleneck and surrounded by a halo of assorted dolls. Towering inches over her head was a massive dollhouse that Hal recognized from the day his stepmother and her young daughter had moved in.

He sat down his backpack in the entryway and traipsed over to her.

“Um, hey there,” he said, his voice as gentle as if he was approaching a wild deer.

Upon speaking, the girl’s head whipped up in his direction as she rocketed upright, obviously planning to run and hide from him. Otacon recognized the gesture immediately and stepped back, giving her more distance.

He didn’t know much about kids, still being one himself in a way, but he understood shyness very well. That, he could work with.

“It’s okay!” he cried, hands flying to the sides of his face. “I didn’t mean to scare you! We’ve never introduced ourselves. I’m Hal. I’m…your brother, from now on.”

This openness seemed to calm her down a bit. She stood there, cautious but intrigued.

“…Emma,” she replied softly. “I’m Emma.”

Hal smiled back at her. “Pretty name.”

The statement seemed to surprise the girl, whose eyes sparkled somewhat at that. She even fiddled with her glasses nervously, siphoning out her excess anxiety through small, twitchy movements. “You think so?”

He nodded and took a seat on the floor, crossing his thin legs into a pretzel beneath him. He couldn’t help but notice that, despite her young age, she seemed to be all alone in the house. It may as well be up to him to give her some company. He remembered being left a lone a lot as a kid and how lonely it felt. Although he didn’t know this young girl too well, she was his sister, and he already felt somewhat responsible to make sure she was spared of similar situations.

“So, what are you up to?” he asked, trying to spur conversation.

“Oh, um…dolls,” she offered simply, then seemed to regret her answer as she averted her eyes and turned her back to him. “You probably think they’re dumb.”

Hal blinked behind his large glasses. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you’re a boy.”

At that, he openly laughed.

“Plenty of boys like dolls,” he said. “We just call them by another name, for some reason. Figures, I guess. I have a few myself, but they’re…um, robots.”

This seemed to intrigue Emma even more.

“…I like robots,” she confessed somewhat reluctantly. “I actually think they’re really cool, but Mom bought me this house and dolls to play with. But I also like building things myself. See?”

He peered inside and saw that, in fact, she had crafted multiple dolls and handmade pieces of furniture as well. There was even one part of the house that included a very primitive lighting mechanism that, judging by the abundant globs of glue and exposed wires, had not been issued with the toy.

“Wow, very nice!” he enthused. “Good job. Did you do this by yourself?”

Surprisingly, she nodded. “Yeah, but don’t tell Mom or Huey. They don’t like me messing with stuff.”

Hal blinked, then smiled. The fact that she’d built it herself without help was astounding to him and made him realize there was some hope of them bonding as siblings after all. “Your secret is safe with me, Dr. E.E.”

She blinked. “E.E.?”

“Like your name,” he explained. “Oh, wait, I guess you’re Emma Emmerich-Danziger, huh? So E.E. doesn’t make much sense. Sorry, I guess you’d rather—”

“No, I like it!” she insisted, voice rising. Nobody had ever given her a nickname before. “So, um…you said you have dolls, right? If you like building stuff too, do you think we could…play together sometimes?”

She was keeping the conversation going herself. That was incredibly encouraging. Determined to stoke her confidence further, he nodded in earnest.

“Of course! I’ll show you my fig—I mean, doll collection,” he promised. Then, he furrowed his brow as a thought crossed his mind. “Then again, I don’t know how well robots would fit into a Victorian mansion.”

The young girl quickly shook her head. “No, they would! That’s why pretend is so great! Anything can happen, and it’s not weird!”

Hal laughed. Even in the short amount of time that they’d been talking, she was proving to be quite stubborn and incorrigible. He was realizing they were more and more alike than he ever imagined they’d be, especially with the lack of blood relation and the fact that they barely knew each other. It was a positive start, to say the least.

“Alright, you’ve got yourself a deal,” he said. “In the meantime, I’m done with my homework and I’m bored out of my mind. You want to tell me about what’s going on in the house? Looks like you’ve got quite a cast of characters.”

“Yeah!” she said, now beaming. She walked closer and sat down beside him. “Okay, we’ll play a bit. You can be this doll. He’s the husband. My dolly will be the wife.”

Hal chuckled. “I’ve never been a husband before. I don’t know how well I’ll do.”

“You’ll do great!” she said. “Because you’re nice.”

It was technically impossible to argue with her logic, though he did feel uncomfortably humbled by it.

“If you say so.”

Emma continued to show him the dollhouse room by room and introduce her to the myriad of characters she’d crafted for her fantasy world. In fact, both had been so engrossed in the fanciful activity that neither noticed the front door click open and that a woman had been watching them from the front door for a few minutes.

At one point, Hall seemed to finally sense the woman’s gaze itching against the back of his neck like a mosquito bite. When he turned to examine the potential source, the only sight that greeted him was a shadow advancing up the house’s staircase. The steps were short and measured; patient, one might say.

Suddenly, the silhouette came to a halt and lingered at the top of the stairs, completely and utterly still. The teen swallowed at the sudden presence, watching the way the shadow seemed to freeze like a statue the moment it was just barely out of sight. For one panicked moment, he wondered what her face looked like, and worse, if she was still looking at them…or him.

“Something wrong?” Emma asked as she followed her stepbrother’s eyes. When they landed at the front door, her expression turned from intrigue to boredom. “Oh, did Mom come home? I didn’t hear.”

Confused and slightly weirded out, the 15-year-old watched the frozen shadow for another moment, then quickly turned his back on it.

“Yeah, she’s home,” he said. “She must be tired from work. You know what? We shouldn’t disturb her. Come on, let’s keep playing.”

At that, Emma bobbed her head in excitement. “Oh, yay! I’d love that!”

The two spent the rest of the evening playing dolls together, and while neither of them vocalized the sentiment, both knew simultaneously that it was the least lonely they’d both felt in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, UM, WE'RE HALFWAY THROUGH THIS FIC? No way, that's crazy. When was someone gonna tell me?
> 
> Tbh, this fic will probably be longer, haha! We're only on 2007, like...can you tell I'm bad at pacing stories?
> 
> Anyway, I hope you're enjoying this fun little romp. I'll be back with another update soon. Buh-bye for now!


End file.
